I Can’t Pick Up What You’re Putting Down

I Can’t Pick Up What You’re Putting Down
By Laura Dickinson-Turner
Written on 10/21/2012

This thing is heavy.
We carry it around with us on frail frames,
Fearing the lightness.
Fearing freedom.
This thing called equality is heavy.
We carry it on curled-in countenances,
Clinging to the false concept.
Cold creation of politics and rhetoric.
This thing is heavy.
We carry its promises on bending backs
Bearing the burden.
Barren burden.
This thing called justice is heavy.
We carry it on shackled shoulders,
Dreading dreams of retribution.
Draining dreams.
This thing is heavy.
We carry it high over our heads.
Terrified of tripping.
Tripping on truth.
This thing called America is heavy.
We carry it wearily within us,
Facing forward.
Facing the future.

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