I’m always the odd one.
I carry an extra of everything—
different types of lip gloss and Carmex
(if I don’t lose ‘em),
my necessities
because I’m constantly on the run.
I carry my idol and his inspirational words.
I carry my heart.
I carry pictures of my Mom at her graduation.
I tend to carry other people’s pain on top of my own
even though no one would do the same for me.
I carry my sister’s son like he’s mine.
I carry my mom and dad’s genes and my siblings.
I carry my insecurities given to me by my family.
My best friend carries me.
I carry the love given me by my new-found friends.
I carry my mistakes, my lost trust
from broken promises of a father to lies of an ex.
I carry a pen—who knows when something needs to go
on paper.
I carry my depression with a smile on my face.
I carry all my stress and problems,
the anger from my parents
because they were never appreciative of me.
I carry my thoughts on that night,
from good night texts and I love you
to I don’t like you like that anymore.
I carry what feels like the weight of the world—
two jobs and school—on my shoulders.
I am carried along in this great wave of life.