Travels Poem by Dylan Rivera

I shall not find a traveller
with heavy bags filled of tree bark
thick and brown
like the clothes I wear
and the weight I carry

Dark and bitty-
clung to life's roots.
Filled to the brim.
Teaching me,
me.

Brilliant 'I love you' tags
placed on the outside of
dusty old bags.
Never,
have I had.

Don't want a briefcase.
Maybe a cotton back T.
Extravagant,
my peace.
His bright eyes divine,

Finding a home of my own,
a grass to be sewn.
Bunching my weeds
to neatly pack my things to bade.

Someday,
I'll stay.
Inside, I travel.

Outside I hold on to,
an emptiness that seems to smooth sharp edges.
In the middle lies plaster wedges.