I’m a broken chair. I’m big and takes up space, People are afraid of sitting on me because I might collapse. I was built to carry weight but can’t carry it’s own. even when someone fix me, I just break somewhere else. I’ve spent long being repaired that I don’t even remember what it’s like to be whole, I just sit in the corner while everyone else has somewhere to belong. Or maybe Im a backpack? A backpack that keeps getting heavier, Even when nothing new is put inside. People carry me because they have to. Putting their arm through my straps And feel the weight before they even know what’s inside. I carry thing I never learned how to put down: Every mistake, Things I wish I did instead, Everything I taught myself because no one was there to teach me, And the feling that I shoul have become more than I am, A man. From the outside, I look strong. Big enough to carry everything. Strong enough to never complain.