My mom used to tell me that even
before it was my first birthday
I had asthma.
I barely know how to live
yet instantly
life selfishly narrowed my airways.
I wonder why God chose air
to be the most essential element for humans
to live.
You need to breathe to live.
As to what they said, sixty percent of the body is water.
When a human is in pain, it sheds water.
When a human is in pain, its heart sinks.
When a human is in pain, it drowns.
Why not water be our air?
Why are we made up of weak bodies
that even plain words would make us cry
an ocean.
I wish that we would just live in oceans.
Tears then would never be salient.

My body is weary from the aching times that makes me feel like a burden.
My head feels great weight.

My throat constantly sores from screaming my lungs out just to reach out.
My voice has run dry.

My skin sense a scorching sun from within that it aches my insides.
I could see the pain.

But I know it's not the virus.

Wash your hands
You held his hands too tightly.
Wash your hands
You pushed him hard, now he's free.

Wash your hands
You touched a heart that's not yours.
Wash your hands
You fool, love cannot be forced.

Wash your hands
You played a lot in the dirt.
Wash your hands
You stained through your shirt.

Wash your hands
We have sinned too much.
Wash your hands
Not everything is to be touched.

Another sun had risen
On the twenty fourth of August
One thousand nine hundred and ninety eight
Of calendars of eighteen ago.

Ms. Luce threw open her window
And it came the bursting of the light
She looked as far as she could
And everything was a feast for her eyes.

Green fields, nice-smelling flowers and old trees
Total contrast of the season of ice
What a pleasant time it is!
Such an advantage, this time of year.

She couldn't keep hold of the ninth
And she couldn't barely hang on so she cherished it
Politics isn't my cup of tea
But I agree a week is a long time.

Mostly, what larger than life
Was her singing,
"All was golden in the sky,"
Until now, it became her eyes.

She went out, clueless of the precipice.
She was dazzled with the light,
Her feet inching and inching to the edge,
And it happened, the fall.

Many a time and oft
Hath you been so real to me,
To anyone and yourself? Nay,
This passion will bear no colour.

For it were a burlesque
Apt to be render'd, for me to write
In this kind, by means
To finally acknowledge you.

If I had been a man,
I would ope my doublet, and
I might hath offer'd you this,
But where art thou?

Am I yourself, but as in sort
Of talking to you sometimes?
I have not seen you set me down
Even 'tis just an especial crony.

Tut I am not in your bosoms
But I know wherefore you do it.
Dwell not in the suburbs of London,
As you might see your shadow.