Bad Poetry

I am amazed to find that writing more (National Novel Writing Month) leads to writing more. I don't usually title my (bad) poems, but I think this one's called The Weight.
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When you carry things
that you need –
a sleeping bag
a good book
a gift
The weight is okay. The pulling swaying shoulder-crushing are like friendly whispered secrets.

But when you carry things
that you don’t need –
a laptop
someone else’s trash
guilt
The weight is so much heavier.

Where is the incentive to keep your body under it?
Much rather shake it off, like a dog shakes water
And dance the ache out of tired muscles
And leave it in the road.