Carry

Writing

I never wanted to carry people’s hopes, prayers or dreams upon my shoulders. No one ever does.

We carry the burdens of the ones we love the most weather we know it or not we truly do hold the lives of others within our bodies and mind. The words I’ve spoken, written and even thought of there is no theory or some complex composition behind it all. I’m addicted to the sensation of being the one that people confide in me. I do not have explanation for the reasons nor do I have any real type of promises to keep to myself. I have this distant dream of helping everyone and not being a burden. I hold troubles in my heart and my soul becomes constipated. Congested with the tears that should have been shed but never come out because I don’t want to cry and seem weak. I got to break out of this awful shell. I’ve never done anything pivotal or something for anyone to admire greatly.

I’ve never been to prison but I find myself serving sentences from a mental jail. I remember a few years ago I was calling myself superman, thinking I could do no wrong and that I could save everyone and help everyone up. Rude awakenings awaited me as life went on. I can do wrong, I can’t save everyone, and I can’t help everyone. There will be people like me who won’t accept the hand to help t hem or to simply lean on when they feel low.

Even so, I wanted to help. I never wanted to carry people’s hopes, dreams or prayers on my shoulders. I never wanted to be depended on to achieve things; I never wanted to be prayed for. So here I am carrying the prayers and hopes of my family and friends and associates. I never asked for my life, I was simply forced to live with it. I’ve never asked anyone for anything nor did I ask to be put in the shoes I’ve been so graciously given. This existence, it’s superficial. Emotions drive everyone, even me.

If it wasn’t for rejection or feeling heartbroken, I wouldn’t be inspired to write and try to construe this.

We as human beings, better yet, we as beings of raw emotion, we are simply lost within our own prison cells.

We find ourselves receiving gifts wrapped in sympathetic pity, handed to us by those closest to us as if that will release us. We have choices, to stay and try to enlighten ourselves or to change who and how we are to be just like everyone else.

I’m prepared to isolate myself within my prison cell.

Simply because I’m tired of carrying the things that not everyone can see when they see the smile that I put upon my overly tired face.

 

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