the things I carry with me

are completely accidental;

rummage through my bag and you will find, slowly accumulating:

the cell phone I ignore,

the iPod i hardly listen to,

crumpled, unused tissues,

half-full water bottles,

the blue-framed glasses I refuse to wear (on pain of death),

empty dusty contact lens cases,

my school ID I never use,

squished chocolates I never ate,

money I forgot about,

a broken key chain in the shape of a fish (from Aruba),

and an old train ticket stub.

and nestled carefully

among these neglected trinkets are

my resentment,

and rage,

and apathy,

and boredom.

don't touch my bag;

everything will fall out

and I will leave the mess

for someone else to clean up.