Under Observation

They’ve put me in a petri dish.

The light of the microscope burns my skin.

Their hands work busily writing down all that they can observe.

They apply heat to see my reaction.

Then they add massive amounts of ice to see if my structure changes.

Chemicals are tossed around; some burn, some create smoke, others neutralize the reaction.

I’m under observation.

They call me a specimen,

But I know that’s not all I am.

They’ve tested me with every chemical possible.

The reactions have all been different.

I’ve been burned and healed.

One day, they’ll be done with me.

Their observation will be over,

And I will be a specimen no longer.

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