I look at this human body
and I know my species was not designed as warriors
soft, armorless water-bag bodies
I know these are not skins meant to withstand attacks
clawless hands and dulled, small teeth
I know these are not suitable weapons for striking blows
for what did humans trade the usual gifts of self-preservation?
how have we thrived despite our self-destructive inclinations?
for I look at the swollen wetness of despair
and I know that eyes were not meant for sight alone
I look at the rising crowds
and I know that tongues are but minimally intended for food
I see this infamous 'thumb of humanity' as a sign
that these bodies were meant to make, create, caretake
thumbs are instructions to clasp, not cut
other hands in the human chain of being
Let not a single finger be wasted on a trigger
For I look at this delicately crafted flesh
and it confirms my soul's intuition that these bodies
are not the hard bodies of fighters
but the fragile bodies of lovers
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