The things I carry are the things most people do. An ID, a sweater, shoes, a bookbag, books, notebooks, and pens. All very plain and average things for a normal teenage boy. The things that I carry are eyes, hair, hands, legs, torso, and a head. The things that everyone carries, I carry as well. I have all 10 ten toes and ten fingers, two sets of eyes and ears, a mouth and a nose. I carry what everyone else carries. Normality. Commonality. Indifference. Everyone is alike and unique but un-unique at the time, while these are all the same at face value they’re different at the same time. The thing I carry is an ID. An ID that represents my identity, something that shows me that I belong. It shows a face of a completely different person, someone I don’t know or rather I …show more content…
A book bag that carries my life but also carries the death of me. The things that I carry are books filled with knowledge inconceivable to me. Books that carry pure beauty and meaning but also pure ugliness and pointlessness. These books carry a fantasy, a world beyond reality but also disappointment for something that can never be true. I loved books but now it seems apparent that I despise them. The things that I carry are books that were fun to read but with the passage of time became a chore, an assignment. Something I did not look forward to doing. The things that I carry are notebooks and pens. Notebooks bursting with unending assignments and pens itching and twitching to get them finished. Notebooks that I stare with disbelief. “How could I let it get this bad.” “I'm never going to finish this.” “It's hopeless.” “I’ve let myself down.” The notebooks scream like imps as each uncompleted assignment is added to the pile, while I look blankly at it. The pens act as tempting voices that whisper, “spend money on new pens it’ll motivate you to get things done.” and for a time it does work but those same pens become discarded as the dullness of time passes