When you see me, I'm always carrying stuff
Not nicely balanced, flawlessly, a spring in my step
But I be struggling!
Items slide and slip in between my fingers
Some linger on my arms
Every step is like a tightrope walker, ready to fall.
Plop, they drop.
I swear under my breath,
I sigh heavily,
I roll my eyes.
'I need to stop bringing so much stuff with me,' I always think,
But I always do the same thing over and over!
I usually have books,
dogeared from frequent reading,
notebooks with pages flapping out
filled with precious memories,
pens, tons of pens
for writing reminders and ideas,
a bookbag, a purse
full of makeup and other things for women
maybe a waterbottle, maybe something I just bought
my cellphone, because it can never be in my purse for long.
Too many exciting things going on.
I wonder why I bring so many things. Is it to comfort me?
So I'm not sitting limply, with nothing to finger or flip or tap
And when people ignore me I can just turn to my books
or notebook so I can write how I feel?
So I can sketch how I want things to be?