Prompt by Airplane Poetry Movement:
“Write a poem from the point of view of a bullet leaving a gun.”

I was launched.
I really didn’t know why
The grownups around me
Are freaking out. I mean,
I’m just a small round thing
Born and made of earthly elements
And I don’t see a difference
Between going here or there.

Only a while ago I was in flow
Connected to my sisters we all
One big puddle of heat
Then they cleaved us honed us
And here I am, a pointed cold-blooded monster.
I was pointed at.
I was launched.

I’m certain–
Left to my own devices
I’d have lounged
Traversed the hemispheres
At a pace more my own.
I’d have kissed lips
And nuzzled behind the ears of dogs
And played catchup with cats
And smiled at little kids
Felt whatever came my way
As good and perfect.

Would that have been a better life?
With no direction, no ambition?
My people don’t think so.
To have no ambition is to die, girl.
And so, you launch.

I’m launched.
And I have no say
Which way
Or who I slay.
And while I may
Kill a terrorist
And save the world
I wonder. Was he launched too?
And you?

©Shweta Bhat

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