My Bag
December 9, 2015
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?
tonight?
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