Travelling

Next time I’ll pack wet wipes
To wipe my hands clean
Not clean of touching things
Just in a hygiene way.

I am not clean of this world,
It is a part of me, the people I talk to,
The handrails I touch, the sounds I hear,
The sights I see are all a part of me.

I wish I could write a diary
Of everything and day in my life.
My strange experiences would be stored
Someone could listen and experience all the strife.