The Things I Carry Poem by Eden Gaiski

One pair of feet pointed directly toward the door and
A mind that doesn't know where to begin or how to
Finish anything. Really
I've got
This thirst I can quench only for a few days at a time when
I can write something down and as
I do I can
Feel every part of myself
Fall into place it's like, I swear it was just like
Every autumn I spent napping with my father before we laid him down in
Lake Michigan to rest the world felt so much
More in tune with his harmony to bring up the pitch and
I need the world to know who gave me these eyes
This laugh and these jointy legs are not mine they are
My father's;

Sometimes I live up in the air and rejoice with all
The world's choruses and
Sometimes I live down low for such

empty things
There are lines that travel down and there are ones that go
Straight through intersections without checking but
my own lines have grown

so much that the more I push them, 

aside in order to look beneath them,
I end up in a thousand 
parts and places, all over again after swearing

to myself
to never
travel back to again,
I push them
aside and when I do, I don't know why but I keep looking

over and over
in the same place for some camouflaged answer explaining why
I do

the things

I do

The things I carry with me and
The tenderness that still dwells below my skull remind me
That we carry heaven and hell with us in unusual ways;
I can either wait
A long
Humble time for the roads to lead me somewhere more like home
Or I
Can start forging
My own way through it and if I can't do that any other way
Than by means of a pen then so be it
Because when I have a pen in my hand I can be an artist
Instead of a half-full head of curly hair resting on top of
The shell of someone I don't even know the last name of but
in the eyes of my seven-year-old sister
I am a song

so I will refuse to hide all of my scars and
I won't try to lessen the things that I carry for my own back's sake