This is not a poem but:
Today I wished I were a red blood cell,
So you could walk around and carry me with you.
It wouldn’t even need to be somewhere important,
Like on your eyelid.
Or your pinky.
I’ll take the long way through your heart,
And after 150 days or however long red blood cells live,
Your cells will come break me down and flush me out of your body.
What I’m saying is,
I’m tired, and I know nothing about biology.
I’m tired, and the moon tracks across the sky as I lie here and think
about how nice it would be to be a red blood cell.
Forgive me, it’s late, and I am not a poet.
