Baggage-Christina Ledesma

Baggage

There is one thing no woman can live her life without. This necessity is wrapped around the shoulder of her arm. Tightly pressing down on her skin, leaving a red indention almost like the one her bra strap leaves when it’s adjusted too tight. It sometimes will hang on the sides of her body loosely swaying back and forth, softly thrusting up against her hips or maybe tightly clutched in her hand, sweating over the lines rooted in her skin. They come in many different silhouettes; harmonizing the form of a woman, curving around the unfinished lines. The textures and shades accessorizes her assemble like how a glossy ornament makes a Christmas tree feel complete. Some of them are made of real leather freshly shaven off the back of a cattle. Others are knock offs that can be bought off the street corners of LA where you can also grab a hot dog wrapped in bacon and dipped in grease. The smaller ones are chic and easy to handle and only have a few small compartments. They work best at blended parties drinking cocktails on balconies overlooking the stars dancing on top of the city. The larger ones seem reliable but the weight on your back feels like an unforeseen mass is lying on the crevasse of your shoulder. Eventually your muscles will grow sore, tear, and an icy hot sensation will flood your skin. The long hours dragging your soul around town will leave lines of insecurities underneath your eyes. Your prize possessions consist of Ibuprofen, chocolate, birth control, tic tac’s, tampons, credit cards, pepper spray, and a toothbrush. Slowly but surely this massive baggage you embrace is holding you down like a prisoner in chains, over packing your mind with old memories and heavy regrets. Your hand digs through the bottomless black pit for security. And only finds unnecessary things.