A Carried Word

May 3, 2010
By Sonia Aviv BRONZE, Essex Fell, New Jersey
Sonia Aviv BRONZE, Essex Fell, New Jersey
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

In my left frontal pocket I carried a word
It lingered there, heavy, but no sound was heard
Each letter was a weight attached to my side
But remained in my pocket, left there to hide

Once again I reached in and found something new
No longer a word, but to a sentence it grew
What a burden it was to carry around
The desire to speak but so tightly confound

A word to a sentence and it didn’t stop there
More verbs and nouns sprouted from everywhere
And soon enough I carried a story instead
That bulged from my pocket and begged to be read

I could hold it no longer and the story set free
It poured from my mouth like a wave from the sea
Every word, every sentence- they crashed to the shore
A memory escaped that I could carry no more

For the words that I carry, I carry too long
I drag them around and think that I’m strong
But the birth of a letter must not be confined
For they flow from the pocket and drift to the mind.

The author's comments:
This piece exemplifies a little bit of myself. Often, I do not speak up about things that anger me or frustrate me and instead they keep building up inside until I no longer can "carry" them

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