My Bag

Marissa Klass

Hang on for a minute...we're trying to find some more stories you might like.

Email This Story

Marissa Klass

It started out as a literal chip on my shoulder

a heavy bag carrying all my dreams,

my fate resting on my  weak body.

I took my bag everywhere,

as if it were my second skin,

I felt empty without it,

even though it tore through my heart

every time I glanced at it

a constant reminder

that my future has been determined

and I have a mere

second, minute, hour, day, week,

to learn of what I am to become

I glance at it once more

well-knowing those that I love,

know my destiny,

and been sworn to secrecy

to keep the truth away from me.

They ask me

“Why do you carry it around

if it gives you such pain and agony?”

I simply respond,

What if I need it?

What if . . .

that torture of time relieves me

this morning?


or tomorrow?

The answer is vague, yet I carry on;

It followed me everywhere

out to dinner,

to the beach,

on my bike rides.

I tried to get away.

I was too weak.

I am obsessive.

An answer is the only way out

to avoid my very own demise.

Then, I got my answer

the bag was opened

weight lifted from my crippled shoulders

I beamed

As the truth had been shone before me

Print Friendly, PDF & Email