Plastic Bag

My room was a mess
I left an empty plastic bag 
on the floor, by the bed
And when I walked around 
It stuck to my feet
And I shook it off

My room, still a mess
Plastic bag stuck to my feet once again
I shook it off, creating bother 
But it remained on the same stop

Dirty room, bloody tissues around 
Plastic bag next to my bed
It stuck to my feet, burden at it’s finest 
I shook it off and left it there
And it waited for our next meeting 

The floor in my room almost invisible
Drawing lines on my body
I drew what I felt
What I felt as the bag stuck to me
Disturbance built up in me
But it remained in it’s place
It’s habitat 

Floor in my room almost invisible 
Lines on my body
I used to draw what I felt
Now I painted it
And the paint dripped everywhere 
And the plastic bag in my room
It had nothing to stick to
That’s when it could finally get away from me.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2023



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Date: 1/21/2024 1:15:00 PM
Dear Ann, welcome to PS! Your poem beautifully captures the metaphorical weight we carry in our lives. The vivid imagery of the bag sticking to you and its eventual release paints a powerful picture. Your journey from disturbance to liberation is moving. We're thrilled to have your talent in our community. Looking forward to more of your expressive work. Blessings, Daniel
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Date: 12/31/2023 1:22:00 AM
Thanks for sharing this... exposing your thoughts through your unique poetic style. Welcome to Poetry Soup. I welcome you with the love of the Lord, expressed by John 3:16 of the Bible, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Be blessed.
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Date: 12/29/2023 4:32:00 PM
Was it a Walmart bag? Ugh! I hate those too. Hey, welcome to PS
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