Please hand me the pen
so I can bequeath ’tis burden
Mother’s plea, “ran as fast as you go”
but the only way is to let go;
feel the things you supposed to know.

Comes with zipper, a lock, and sometimes a hand —
obliged to carry to keep you on land.
Pass the luggage under the sun
to thy daughter, make a son.

Who even started to forge this bag?
who to blame o’er this vaguely declared war?

Please, hand me a pen.
Tore a page, let them be free.
Let them breathe.