I’m the great equalizer.
I’m the Human Body.
Rich or poor, scholar or not,
I come shaped by same quiet plan.
Thirty-two teeth,
for chewing ambition.
Two lungs,
for sighing at morning alarms.
No exception, no upgrades.

I keep two hundred and six bones—
though you treat them like stunt props.
My ribs? Twelve pairs,
a flimsy picket fence around the heart.
And yes, I gave you the femur,
your strongest pillar,
and the stapes,
smaller than a grain of rice,
both rattling along in the same frame.
Funny, isn’t it?
The mansion-builder and the rice-grain
living under one roof.

My heart? Four chambers,
Always pumping and quietly chugging,
pH balanced like a tightrope walker.
Slip the scale, and you topple—
no matter how long your résumé.
Red cells clock in,
quit after a hundred and twenty days.
No one gets tenure here.
No one asks a retirement plan.

I weigh my brain carefully—
about as much as a small loaf of bread.
On the grand days—
heavy enough to imagine philosophies,
light enough to forget birthdays.
On the humbling days—
smart enough to invent space travel,
dumb enough to forget
where you left your keys.
Strongest muscle? The jaw.
Yes, the masseter.
Explains why I’m busiest at buffets.

I burn at thirty-seven degrees—
Ninety eight point six,
if you still refuse metric.
Yes, I burn steady,
warm as a cup of tea you forgot on the counter,
never too hot, never too cold.
I’ll give you a normal pressure,
akin to a well-behaved metronome,
tapping along politely.
But scream at traffic long enough
and I’ll spike the bill.
See? Fragile beneath the swagger.
I’m numbers and nerves,
but I unravel easily.

From the outside, you decorate me:
suits, silk, uniforms, crowns.
From the inside, I’m always the same!
And here’s the thing:
I am not alone.

The same four chambers beat in whales,
wolves, and hummingbirds.
My lungs only work
because forests lend theirs first.
I like to think of us, the trio—
man, animals, and nature—
as the real aristocracy,
of the big blue dot.

Yes, just a dot.
From space, Earth is just a freckle,
a candle in the dark.
From space, none of your noise matters.
No thrones, no boardrooms, no hashtags.
The planets afar don’t see your borders,
or your medals, or your wars.

I am your measure,
your limit,
your reminder.
And if the ruckus you create
burns through the forests,
poisons the rivers,
or silences the animals,
then I go too.

I like to think of us a trinity:
forests and seas first,
then wings and claws and paws,
and last, the restless human frame I am.
Not kings, not empires—
just the living order
that keeps us from going dark.

So strip away the chaos.
Remember me, Respect me as I am—
a body,
one among millions,
standing beside all living things,
trying to keep this dot alive
a little longer under the stars.