the poem to my HAND-BODY

To hands-
Dirty, filthy, muddy, haven’t been clean for three days hands
Why aren’t you clean?
I wash you and wash you and you never become what you were before
I remember when you were clean, it seems like a long time ago
I look at the creases between my figures, the lines in my palms and the winkles in my skin and all I see is dirt, dust and grim.
Under my nails there is a streak of grit and ick and that I brought home with me from Hollister
You do so much for me hands but why wont you just become clean.

To body-
Its not my fault! You’re the one who neglects to wash me.
Instead you go off and have fun without thinking about the dirt you left behind,
What can I do, you’re the one who decides to wash me or not,
I want to be clean, I yearn to be clean, you could almost say it’s my goal in life.
Yet I fail each time you walk away from your sink and I FEEL SO DIRTY!