This Thing

This thing upon my shoulders, I need to hold it tight. It would be a silly thing to let it go, but I don't know that I ever will. This thing is so simply the cause of so much to my being. It is not nearly as well as you imagine it to be. Wellness and goodness come from my heart and are stifled by this thing, but it may not be in so many words. However, these words lack substance and mean nothing to you. But this thing is so heavy and means so much to me. I hate it. It hurts and holds my soul in its palm and guides it. I want it so bad to stop and reflect on the things it has done, but I feel it overcome with a certain sense of accomplishment and brute. This air it carries is so unlike what I've always intended. It's funny and makes almost no sense. I suppose some things are never meant to be understood. This thing is quite the puzzle to me. It is so heavy and I am so weak. I'm longing for that sense of liberation and a decadence of the former. But to launch this thing off my shoulders is oddly not enough. It's there and a part of who I am and who I am not and who I am intended to be. This is fine. This is character. This is what people strive for I think. Wherein lies a true identity? This thing on my shoulders make it so difficult to figureout. If I never find out, this is fine. I know I know nothing and I'll just tra-la-la in my ignorance like everyone knows I do. It's just so heavy. I'm tired of carrying this weight on my shoulders. I want someone to explain these things to me so I can be a better person for it. It's hard to have that sense of comfort, though. Ya think you do sometimes, but we'll see...