My Bag (November 18, 2019)

there is this bag

outside it’s in pristine condition

inside it’s tattered, but still

functionable 

wait that sounds weird

let me start over

a crumpled bag

slumped against 

a battered wall

the paint peels down

wait I was going for uplifting

I’ll try again

I look down

hoping to find what

I’m longing for

but it’s crowded

I can barely breathe

well I guess that’s not totally true

I’m still alive, aren’t I?

I think the easiest way 

to go about this is 

a list 

rather, a list with explanations

so, here I go again

1. a cross necklace: my faith will always be with me
2. a half-empty, half-scribbled on notebook for all the thoughts 

I cannot hold in

3. some sugar: anything can be made better if you add sweetness
4. the sun

no, not the sun. a picture of it for the days it refuses to rise

5. a stack of those little cards you get a funerals

not in a morbid-feel-bad-for-me way, 

but because they’re always with me, 

guiding me

6. 
   
   
   

I know,

there should be a sixth item

there should be hundreds, really

and there are

but those are for me to know

for me to have, to feel

they are locked away, and only 

I have the key

I am an open book

but only if you ask

my bag isn’t for everyone

not everyone will understand, 

and not everyone deserves to know

and so I leave you with this:

my bag is well-worn loved

my bag is always full

my bag is everything is needs to be

right now

and it’s not for everyone

wait 

that’s probably not what you wanted to hear

but I’m not going to start over

not again 

I’ll just leave it here

open 

for whenever you’re ready to listen