A collection of cells
and half-formed tissue.
I have no thoughts,
no will,
no urge to transform.
I am only capable of words now
because some silly poet
is using me as a device.
I am not a child.
Most of you
when asked to hold me –
slimy, stillborn me –
as you would your own children
would gasp in horror.
I can,
however,
put you in danger.
Directly or indirectly.
My entry into lives
unannounced
can be
for many –
not all, but many –
a headlong stumble
into a bear trap.
And well before
I can change the world
I can rupture
and hemorrhage.
I have no will.
I cannot kill…
(…directly anyway…)
Those who can
are those who say
that I am more important
than the human gestating me.
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