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Poetry & Free Verse
Challenge Ended
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
Ended September 2, 2022 • 12 Entries • Created by Finder
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Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
Profile avatar image for dctezcan
dctezcan in Poetry & Free Verse
• 53 reads

Back blues

A back can be made weary

made to bend and to curve

by invisible things you carry

and false gods you make it serve

worry, fear and hopelessness

expectations and stress

grief, regret and sorrow

what you do and don't possess

dreams, hopes, responsibilities

bills, bills, bills

justifications, rationalizations, excuses

belief all pain relief resides in a pill

pharmaceutical or religious

they both get'er done

like liquid, needle or powder

they'll cause a back to grow numb

be careful what you carry

your thoughts can weigh you down

take deep breaths, be in the moment

remember, a smile's lighter than a frown.

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Challenge
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
Profile avatar image for Uschibear
Uschibear in Poetry & Free Verse
• 26 reads

Burdens of Survival

I carry a load

a backpack of life

of tools essential

to survive all the strife

Friendship

Strength

Courage

Determination

Reside right along side

Band-Aids , iodine.

Chocolates, and coffee

As necessary as breathing

and integral to survival

my burden encourages

my soul's own delight

7
1
2
Challenge
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
Profile avatar image for InvisibleWriter
InvisibleWriter in Poetry & Free Verse
• 30 reads

atlas

they tell me gravity keeps me grounded

that without it we would all float away

but there’s a different weight that keeps me here

sunk deep into my shoulders

settled down through my spine

atlas carried the world the way I carry memories

names tarnished in grief rest upon my tongue

silenced laughter sits forever in my ears

faces etched into the backs of my eyelids

lingering every time I close my eyes

in dreams

in stress

in tears

countless exits keep me close to the ground

pushing me back down

and

down

and

down

death takes away the sky

sometimes I wish it could take memory

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Challenge
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
wnelson in Poetry & Free Verse
• 22 reads

Note Taker.....

There's a pencil on my back

and it takes continuous notes.

It etches words, phrases, and

sentiments into my muscles.

My muscles feel sore from

all the suggestions. I am weighted

down with why, when, how and

a million other questions.

Where is the eraser? Can I scratch

out the past? I'd like a fresh start.

One that is simple, unobtrusive

and fresh.

I feel the heaviness of lead as it

enters my bloodstream. Toxins I

must absorb as part of the decades

passing me by.

It's drawing a picture across my

shoulders. An idea is taking place

in spite of my lack of motivation

to change and grow.

Creativity must emerge. I can't store

it on my back. And so I write and I

write and I write. My pencil is now

my tool rather than my burden.

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Challenge
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
Profile avatar image for AlisonAudrey
AlisonAudrey in Poetry & Free Verse
• 19 reads

Mirrors

I look in the mirror and

try to erase my ego

but it’s stuck there

so I draw in lipstick

stupid lyrics

the ones that got me

through high school

they say every mirror

is used

but when I told him that

he didn’t get it

too abstract

like my poems

she said my self-deprecating

poetry is atrocious

but has she heard

Nickelback

their lyrics still

on my mirror

looking right through me

seeing nothing

but who I chose

to become

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Challenge
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
Profile avatar image for IcarusLaughed
IcarusLaughed in Poetry & Free Verse
• 20 reads

There’s a Weight On My Back

I carry my fat on my back.

My chonk and my rolls and my heft.

I carry the things I feel a need to hide.

I carry my gender and sexuality, my desires and opinions, my fears and the spools of webbed threads of thought thought thought thought thought.

They ramble on and jiggle on weighing heavy on me and I cannot entertain them, most times.

It was, as with every other, from my young self that I began to feel shame.

Shame over the things that I simply was and simply am.

So I zipped them up in a little backpack and tried to pretend that they didn't matter to anyone, nor me, tried to pretend they weren't there.

Shame became fear.

I loathed my backpack, hiding it away as deep into my heavy chest as I could possibly bear.

I carried it everywhere I went, of course, these are not things you can throw away but I wanted it all gone for a time.

But then I grew.

I still grow but it matters all the more that I've come to where I am now.

Because see, fear turned to anger.

And not anger at myself, not anymore.

An anger at the world.

A world that has made me feel I should not be too loud, too big, too heavy, too self-helping, too confident

A world that has made me shut down and quiet myself and hide away in as many shadows as I could possibly find until every dark knook and cranny knew my name by heart

I've spent so many years of my time on earth hiding things away in my backpack

So you can understand why I felt so proud of myself when I declared to myself that maybe I can be fat and be beautiful

You can understand I felt pride when I told my parents I was a bisexual with reckless abandon, sparked by my rage at the homophobia in the world

I've spent so long trying to categorise myself into mental illnesses, into right and wrong, into this is what I should do and it doesn't matter what I want to do

I have spent so many years not being me, whoever that may be..

My backpack is a little lighter of load now,

Much more than it was back then.

There's a while to go but

I have hope

That some day

This weight will slip off my back

My wings will grow again, roaring and big and beautiful and rainbow-hued and rearing for flight

And I

Will be

Infinite

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Challenge
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
Profile avatar image for sos97
sos97 in Poetry & Free Verse
• 6 reads

backpack

what is this, tied to my back

I cannot see it yet

I fall with every step

it drains and leads

and drags and fills

my irritable bones

I start to see a crack forming

at the base of my neck

traveling around, up and down

it holds me together briefly before

I crumble and is shocked

when it no longer had a host

left behind, a puddle of fear

a basin of shame, a raging river

of hatred whose sound drowned out

whatever love had been left behind.

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Challenge
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
Profile avatar image for Jscheper
Jscheper in Poetry & Free Verse
• 8 reads

Blurred mind

Lost in thoughts, of days long lost.

Lost in days, of dreams burned.

Lost in dreams, of worlds blurred.

Lost in a blurred mind, of trauma unspoken.

Lost in a trauma, of days long lost.

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Challenge
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
Shaykie in Poetry & Free Verse
• 10 reads

backpack

From day-to-day I can feel my backpack gaining weight.

The worries become more, and the calmness seems to fade.

My thoughts are neatly stacked and pack in this bag of mine.

Saying, I will deal with my emotions stuffed into the pile, but never do I have enough time.

My joy seems lighter but my doubts drag me down.

Caring this backpack, I can hear a sigh, a hopeless sound.

I miss the days were all I had to carry was a small lunch tin, that was so light.

But, now I have to battle my luggage, and I can't win the fight.

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Challenge
Backpack literal /figurative
What do you carry around on your back all day? Poetry Only
xisle in Poetry & Free Verse
• 11 reads

Baggage

There's always my phone, tucked in my back pocket.

Chained down, dragging me, tethered to this Earth, connected, connected, connected, to everything - but floating, far away, can't see, blind and disconnected, disconnected, disconnected, from real.

I never used to carry keys around, I didn't have a car and lived at home. Still don't have a car, but my job requires me to carry a lot of keys. None of them belong to my house where I live alone. They sit on a clip on my belt, most of the time.

The clash of their metal bodies always in my ears, WHERE ARE MY KEYS, move, my hands are shaking and I can't find the right one, "you don't lock your house?", there's no point, stuck and stationary, still no car keys, so many things to unlock but still so locked up.

My wallet is often in my backpack, not on my person. It's the same wallet I've had for eight years, the first one I bought. As a teenager, I only carried cash in it. Then cards started to accumulate, and now it's so stiff and worn out, and I couldn't tell you half of the things that fill it.

Junk, junk, junk, where's my wallet, doesn't matter I can use my phone now, it reminds me of years ago, how is it still together, how is it holding on, the threads are bare and the leather sticky, I should get a new one - why, this one still works just fine.

My pocket knife joins my keys on my belt. I need it for work sometimes.

It's sharp, how sharp, let's see... oh god it, it, it - it's perfect for cutting the boxes - don't bring it with you, you're so obvious, but I need it for work, do I really, why did I buy it, it's pretty, it's sharp, like her and her and her, why am I not that way anymore?

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