You told me once when we talked about the things we carried
That I was a little too vague
And I thought then, and still do now
That it's because I'm a little too vague
The things I carry aren't set in stone
They are abstract and unsure and hard to put to words
They are feelings and thoughts only half-formed
They are like lines of a poem never quite heard
So, I carry the snippets of long-held secrets
I carry the knowledge of my own helplessness
But nothing I carry is as sure as these words
They change every day into different forms
Today the things I carry were light as a feather
Yesterday they made my back ache and my steps falter
But somehow, I keep moving forward
Because I carry these things
And that implies they aren't holding me down.