I think sometimes of the teacher
who tried to insist
scribbling poems was a waste of talent
when I had potential
to be a scientist
Even though storytelling and biology
are just the same thing
Both the study of how to be alive
Open someone up, inspect their insides
and what do you get?
A lung dissection
or a sonnet
Because in year seven I learned we need oxygen
but it transpires we turn each breath
to laughter, music, purpose, heartbreak, awe
All as human and vital as a pulse
We tell our stories each:
This is a human heart, see how it beats
This is your breath, which can be snatched away
by pneumonia or a sunset
And isn't it a remarkable thing
to be alive?
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