Who am I to process But the past that's been given to me I am one and they are many We all share our history And where I live Where I am and how I am... I am. All has been and it is gone. Everything has happened. I walk until the moments pass. A decision made, it was.

Your baggage is given, from which you pull To put, to feel, the split, to mend and to let go. It weighs heavy, and with its might it plants your feet firmly into the ground. A whisper of a wind as it grazes by your ear, Raises dust from underneath your steps. It enters your airways, clogging up. Your chest is pressed and grasps for the little air left. As you fall to your knees and you collapse, In what's left of your blurry vision, a being forms of human shape from the same dust. The straps release, like a feather you fall, the baggages weight no longer pressing you down. It jumps on their back and you see its knees bend and earth start to bear a mark of its feet. The weight, carried. You close your eyes and feel your skull find the earth. Slowly, you will come back to the ground that born you just moments ago.