On Top of the World (some creative writing)

She is the perpetual traveler. She has been to the moon and back and she will shock you with her starlight.She carries a suitcase.She never measured its weight but sometimes it feels heavier than others.

She carries salt and dirt, ground into her favorite fabrics. She carries seashells and string, songs and socks. She carries voices and smiles and collects more from everyone she meets. She carries the lady of wild things locked inside her throat, waiting to escape in a word or a sentence.

She carries maps coiled tight with stories of where she’s been; memories. The smell of Christmas morning and the crackle of opening presents, the school years, each one a new beginning, the finality of closing a book with a thud.

On bad days she carries guilt, tears, the whispers she pretended not to hear that cut like knives. On bad days she carries a very delayed plane ticket, long lines, loneliness, bad directions, and nightmares.

She carries the inbetweens; getting soaked in the rain, not having anything to do, trying new things, and being 12 years old.

She carries connections, the brush of an arm, a ticket from city to city to city. Sometimes she carries herself home, to be in a familiar place, and to enjoy familiar things, like being a sardine in the subway and celebrating her birthday in the mornings.

She carries her body, its wrinkles and bitten nails, and the way it swims dances and cries.

She carries her dreams, the new, the irreparably broken, and the ones waiting to be fixed.