the adventures a backpack will take you are endless. into the wild searching for the last frontier. onto a subway running away from reality. up the stairs of a library in pursuit to things bigger than you.
The backpack hung heavy between my shoulder blades, but the road stretched out in front of me, leading somewhere better. It had to be be somewhere better, because hell, literally, is all that was behind me. And in the pack, I had two bucks, a book, and my soul.
my backpack is really full right now cuz guess waht? IM DONE WITH SCHOOL! so i had to put my whole locker into miy backpack hahhaha. oh man. that thing is heavy. i neeeed to buy a new backpack though cuz the one i have right now is broken…. plus it has a rotten banana in it hahahhahaha .
and you’re too busy thinking about how nice it is that he said “fuck with” instead of just “fuck” to be concerned about the fact that he’s talking about fucking with hookers for free, and you’re wanting to say, just how silly that is, if you want free sex, don’t you pick up ladies in the bars? and you’re so distracted waiting for your turn in the conversation to say this that you don’t realize how fucked up this situation is, (and it is fucked up) and that maybe you don’t want the ring of a guy who still packs with backpacks instead of suitcases, and when you do come to realize this, you think, well, I’m sure it’s only fucked up for me, and not everybody else, and you’re right, because when all other girls were sneaking cigarettes, you were stealing your mother’s ‘dieters’ drinks’ teas, because, well, your momma was a smoker too, and her face is damn ugly, and you have her genes, and you don’t want to take that risk
I hate backpacks. They’re so annoying. The ones that go on your back I mean. Those hurt my shoulders. But so do the ones that go on my shoulder. They never seem to be large enough to hold the books I need for school as well as the books that I use for writing. I always look like one of those schoolkids who were forced to bring all their textbooks to school ’cause they can’t use a locker right.
The trees whispered sweet nothings to the robin’s ear. She swooped, landing on an overturned backpack. Blood – sticky and warm – coated her feet, painting them bright red.
The backpack held more than my books, it held pieces of me. My heart, soul, my mind. In that backpack alone were the scattered remnants of my entire life up until this point: what am I if I’m not a student?
I took a backpack on a long walk to China. I walked around aimlessly looking for a fishing rod. I came across a wind storm that blew my hair irractically. Why does it smell like sugar cookies? The sun is smiling on my cheeks and the people smile widely. I love to walk around this place with my backpack slung low across my left shoulder.
Oh backpack how I do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Thou carriest the greatest of my physical burdens safely containing the books upon which I spent my life savings in order to further my education. Thy straps and seams straining to bear the weight of my learning.
Backpack. A simple item. It stores books and pens and notes. It holds water bottles and mid-class snacks. It keeps secrets secret and gossip golden. It fancies paper and lives on kids. Literally.
urgh. my backpack is heavy. i hate it. it’s too big, too blue, too ugly for me. maybe i should stick to a binder next year. yeah, that sounds like a good plan
there’s this bearded man who comes into my work and always sits at the bar and orders a beer. his name is chris and carries around a backpack and probably munches on granola and bran. i pegged him as a camp worker, and i was right. anyhow, he ordered merlot today.
hiking through the mountains. Camping at a remote campsite. Filled with food, journal, water bottle. Dora the explorer – backpack, backpack. Knapsack – why would some call it a knapsack – where did this term come from? From where did this term come? My how my thoughts wander. back to the task at hand…backpack. Flying on a plane, carry on baggage
i took a backpack full of books and tissues down to the woods, where i sat for an hour or four, pouring through all the tales i’d ever lived to find the one that would take me back to you, to find a word that gleamed in the sunlight or some page-fold where i once paused to answer your call.
I’m terribly fond of backpacks. I tend to stuff them with books. And more books. And more books. In my case they should really call them bookpacks with all the slepping of books I do with them. I mean I do used my backpack for other things but books tend to supersede all.
i don’t much like backpacks. i much rather prefer the messenger bag. i do not know why. i guess it is because backpack seems too overused. you never hear anybody say “yeah, lemme go get my messenger bag”
“Back pack?” I stare incredulously at Hannah. “what the hell? How am I supposed to write about a backpack?”
“Easy,” Hannah assures me, “Just think of this. You’re out, backpacking through Europe-”
“Like I do that every day.”
“-when suddenly, you meet this person….”
And so my story began.
Mochila is Spanish for backpack. It holds many things. People day that you have a figurative backpack for your emotions, so the heavier the backpack, the more problems you have. I got my backpack at Tilly’s. El chico’s backpack weighs a lot more than mine. I have so much stuff in it.
They sat together on the park bench with a backpack in between them.
“So, what do you think you’ll do now?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know… maybe write some, under a pen name. Maybe paint.”
“That’s all good, but… what about the cops?”
“Screw them. They can’t have my backpack.”
He opened his backpack and something was wrong. His heart sank, where was that binder? It occurred to him that the night before he had not placed it in his backpack but rather on his desk. He had no notes. He had no work. He had a backpack and a ream of paper so he began to draw.
One day, I was unhappy. This didn’t make any sense, because I was only in kindergarten. But I was like really, really unhappy, not just the kind of unhappy you get when your mom packed tuna fish instead of peanut butter in your lunch. Yeah.
The best backpack I ever owned was made for walking. Compact, forest green with sporty mesh and tons of places to stowe pens, pencils and paper. Maybe a novel and my trusty water bottle.
Backpack conjours up images of carefree travelling. For me personally it is a symbol of my time in Africa. My backpack was my constant companion through the dusty roads of Namibia. It would sit in the boughs of a minibus while we made the trip to and from Oshakati to Windhoek over the course of four years.
One day I looked in my backpack and what I saw would surprise even the wisest of men! There was a duck and a watch and a kite. And what happened next is confidential. But sense we’re so close I guess I won’t hide. The next thing that happened after I looked inside was I was thrown into a sight that was mesmerizing and captivating!
i got a new one this yr that wasnt dorky once in my lfe.its purple, my favorite color.i remember my teddy bear backpack in kindergarden. ive always had weird looking backpacks, now its normal, but i kinda liked weird backpacks.
school is a long day, but a loveable day. I see who I love and I spend time with them. I learn what I love and I’ll do what I love, with the help of this backpack. A long year blinks by, and I’m growing up. Its scary, but I love it. I’ll look back in four years and watch how I’ve grown. Life is good, school is good. I love my school. tired, but happy. content and dreaming. watch it all come true.
back to the pack. carry one carry all carry on – no regulating this one people. take me anywhere dora the explorer… MMMMM delicioso, or not. not today!
going to school first thing in morning and waiting on the side of the road with all the kids that i really didnt get along with or that i didnt even know if they knew i was there, sitting in the front of the bus making friends with the bus driver cause no one else liked me and i was to scared to talk to anyone else.
my backpack is large. it is actually a hiking backpack. my parents got it for me to encourage me to hike more. but i haven’t found the time. and now I feel bad about that.
it always stayed with her, no matter what. green and tattered, it stood as her banner, her comfort, her security blanket. it was filled with things, toys goodies, books you name it. and now, now it was filled with love.
“Valdaree, valdarahhh…” my mother sings and then she sings “Scarlet Ribbons.” She loves us at night the best that she can. but she’s pretty tired. “My knapsack on my back…”
this makes me think of school. that i’m still in. It’s been far too long. and now i find out that my financial aid might not go through. maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t have been in school in the first place.
no.
that’s rididculous. school is something that i don’t think i’ll regret spending time in. i hope.
i was going to school one day, carrying my backpack. i don’t like school very much, but i always hoped that one day i could break out of my shell and make some friends, because maybe school wouldn’t be as horrible for me if i could just meet some new people and didn’t spend all my time at home alone and miserable. i hate my life. really. dumb backpack. it just puts a heavier weight on my shoulders than what is necessary and what is already unfortunately there.
The backpack was heavy as he walked along the dirt road, kicking at pebbles occasionally with the toe of his sneakers. He’d had a really bad day. Mrs. Johnson had yet again given him detention for talking during class, but he couldn’t help it. Becky Smith was just so damn cute, he hung on her every word, and would anything in his power to make her say another one. An hour of detention for three words? Worth it, even if those words were “Shut up, dork”.
They’re a really awesome ideas. I’ve had my backpack for about 9 years though. It’s getting pretty worn out. It sure beats having your hands full with a purse and books and pencils. They really make my life less miserable.
I fill my backpack with shit I dont want anymore. I zip it up and throw it into the water, the river carries it down. Its cause is carrying away my issues. I wish I just couldn’t follow that cause afterwards. Maybe I should’ve burned that backpack.
I was hiking through the mountain pass when I felt its eyes peering down at me. I had been hunting it for weeks. I stopped in my place and peered through the trees.
the adventures a backpack will take you are endless. into the wild searching for the last frontier. onto a subway running away from reality. up the stairs of a library in pursuit to things bigger than you.
The backpack hung heavy between my shoulder blades, but the road stretched out in front of me, leading somewhere better. It had to be be somewhere better, because hell, literally, is all that was behind me. And in the pack, I had two bucks, a book, and my soul.
backpacks help us carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.
my backpack is really full right now cuz guess waht? IM DONE WITH SCHOOL! so i had to put my whole locker into miy backpack hahhaha. oh man. that thing is heavy. i neeeed to buy a new backpack though cuz the one i have right now is broken…. plus it has a rotten banana in it hahahhahaha .
and you’re too busy thinking about how nice it is that he said “fuck with” instead of just “fuck” to be concerned about the fact that he’s talking about fucking with hookers for free, and you’re wanting to say, just how silly that is, if you want free sex, don’t you pick up ladies in the bars? and you’re so distracted waiting for your turn in the conversation to say this that you don’t realize how fucked up this situation is, (and it is fucked up) and that maybe you don’t want the ring of a guy who still packs with backpacks instead of suitcases, and when you do come to realize this, you think, well, I’m sure it’s only fucked up for me, and not everybody else, and you’re right, because when all other girls were sneaking cigarettes, you were stealing your mother’s ‘dieters’ drinks’ teas, because, well, your momma was a smoker too, and her face is damn ugly, and you have her genes, and you don’t want to take that risk
I hate backpacks. They’re so annoying. The ones that go on your back I mean. Those hurt my shoulders. But so do the ones that go on my shoulder. They never seem to be large enough to hold the books I need for school as well as the books that I use for writing. I always look like one of those schoolkids who were forced to bring all their textbooks to school ’cause they can’t use a locker right.
The trees whispered sweet nothings to the robin’s ear. She swooped, landing on an overturned backpack. Blood – sticky and warm – coated her feet, painting them bright red.
bag crammed with books – turns my child into a turtle
The backpack held more than my books, it held pieces of me. My heart, soul, my mind. In that backpack alone were the scattered remnants of my entire life up until this point: what am I if I’m not a student?
I took a backpack on a long walk to China. I walked around aimlessly looking for a fishing rod. I came across a wind storm that blew my hair irractically. Why does it smell like sugar cookies? The sun is smiling on my cheeks and the people smile widely. I love to walk around this place with my backpack slung low across my left shoulder.
Oh backpack how I do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Thou carriest the greatest of my physical burdens safely containing the books upon which I spent my life savings in order to further my education. Thy straps and seams straining to bear the weight of my learning.
Backpack. A simple item. It stores books and pens and notes. It holds water bottles and mid-class snacks. It keeps secrets secret and gossip golden. It fancies paper and lives on kids. Literally.
urgh. my backpack is heavy. i hate it. it’s too big, too blue, too ugly for me. maybe i should stick to a binder next year. yeah, that sounds like a good plan
there’s this bearded man who comes into my work and always sits at the bar and orders a beer. his name is chris and carries around a backpack and probably munches on granola and bran. i pegged him as a camp worker, and i was right. anyhow, he ordered merlot today.
hiking through the mountains. Camping at a remote campsite. Filled with food, journal, water bottle. Dora the explorer – backpack, backpack. Knapsack – why would some call it a knapsack – where did this term come from? From where did this term come? My how my thoughts wander. back to the task at hand…backpack. Flying on a plane, carry on baggage
i took a backpack full of books and tissues down to the woods, where i sat for an hour or four, pouring through all the tales i’d ever lived to find the one that would take me back to you, to find a word that gleamed in the sunlight or some page-fold where i once paused to answer your call.
I’m terribly fond of backpacks. I tend to stuff them with books. And more books. And more books. In my case they should really call them bookpacks with all the slepping of books I do with them. I mean I do used my backpack for other things but books tend to supersede all.
i don’t much like backpacks. i much rather prefer the messenger bag. i do not know why. i guess it is because backpack seems too overused. you never hear anybody say “yeah, lemme go get my messenger bag”
“Back pack?” I stare incredulously at Hannah. “what the hell? How am I supposed to write about a backpack?”
“Easy,” Hannah assures me, “Just think of this. You’re out, backpacking through Europe-”
“Like I do that every day.”
“-when suddenly, you meet this person….”
And so my story began.
Mochila is Spanish for backpack. It holds many things. People day that you have a figurative backpack for your emotions, so the heavier the backpack, the more problems you have. I got my backpack at Tilly’s. El chico’s backpack weighs a lot more than mine. I have so much stuff in it.
They sat together on the park bench with a backpack in between them.
“So, what do you think you’ll do now?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know… maybe write some, under a pen name. Maybe paint.”
“That’s all good, but… what about the cops?”
“Screw them. They can’t have my backpack.”
He opened his backpack and something was wrong. His heart sank, where was that binder? It occurred to him that the night before he had not placed it in his backpack but rather on his desk. He had no notes. He had no work. He had a backpack and a ream of paper so he began to draw.
One day, I was unhappy. This didn’t make any sense, because I was only in kindergarten. But I was like really, really unhappy, not just the kind of unhappy you get when your mom packed tuna fish instead of peanut butter in your lunch. Yeah.
The best backpack I ever owned was made for walking. Compact, forest green with sporty mesh and tons of places to stowe pens, pencils and paper. Maybe a novel and my trusty water bottle.
Backpack conjours up images of carefree travelling. For me personally it is a symbol of my time in Africa. My backpack was my constant companion through the dusty roads of Namibia. It would sit in the boughs of a minibus while we made the trip to and from Oshakati to Windhoek over the course of four years.
One day I looked in my backpack and what I saw would surprise even the wisest of men! There was a duck and a watch and a kite. And what happened next is confidential. But sense we’re so close I guess I won’t hide. The next thing that happened after I looked inside was I was thrown into a sight that was mesmerizing and captivating!
i got a new one this yr that wasnt dorky once in my lfe.its purple, my favorite color.i remember my teddy bear backpack in kindergarden. ive always had weird looking backpacks, now its normal, but i kinda liked weird backpacks.
school is a long day, but a loveable day. I see who I love and I spend time with them. I learn what I love and I’ll do what I love, with the help of this backpack. A long year blinks by, and I’m growing up. Its scary, but I love it. I’ll look back in four years and watch how I’ve grown. Life is good, school is good. I love my school. tired, but happy. content and dreaming. watch it all come true.
School turtle backpack red nat yellow Ripped richard nerdy I’d never heavy ugly eeyore young Pencils books
back to the pack. carry one carry all carry on – no regulating this one people. take me anywhere dora the explorer… MMMMM delicioso, or not. not today!
going to school first thing in morning and waiting on the side of the road with all the kids that i really didnt get along with or that i didnt even know if they knew i was there, sitting in the front of the bus making friends with the bus driver cause no one else liked me and i was to scared to talk to anyone else.
my backpack is large. it is actually a hiking backpack. my parents got it for me to encourage me to hike more. but i haven’t found the time. and now I feel bad about that.
it always stayed with her, no matter what. green and tattered, it stood as her banner, her comfort, her security blanket. it was filled with things, toys goodies, books you name it. and now, now it was filled with love.
“Valdaree, valdarahhh…” my mother sings and then she sings “Scarlet Ribbons.” She loves us at night the best that she can. but she’s pretty tired. “My knapsack on my back…”
this makes me think of school. that i’m still in. It’s been far too long. and now i find out that my financial aid might not go through. maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t have been in school in the first place.
no.
that’s rididculous. school is something that i don’t think i’ll regret spending time in. i hope.
i was going to school one day, carrying my backpack. i don’t like school very much, but i always hoped that one day i could break out of my shell and make some friends, because maybe school wouldn’t be as horrible for me if i could just meet some new people and didn’t spend all my time at home alone and miserable. i hate my life. really. dumb backpack. it just puts a heavier weight on my shoulders than what is necessary and what is already unfortunately there.
The backpack was heavy as he walked along the dirt road, kicking at pebbles occasionally with the toe of his sneakers. He’d had a really bad day. Mrs. Johnson had yet again given him detention for talking during class, but he couldn’t help it. Becky Smith was just so damn cute, he hung on her every word, and would anything in his power to make her say another one. An hour of detention for three words? Worth it, even if those words were “Shut up, dork”.
They’re a really awesome ideas. I’ve had my backpack for about 9 years though. It’s getting pretty worn out. It sure beats having your hands full with a purse and books and pencils. They really make my life less miserable.
I fill my backpack with shit I dont want anymore. I zip it up and throw it into the water, the river carries it down. Its cause is carrying away my issues. I wish I just couldn’t follow that cause afterwards. Maybe I should’ve burned that backpack.
I was hiking through the mountain pass when I felt its eyes peering down at me. I had been hunting it for weeks. I stopped in my place and peered through the trees.