We orchestrated what we could,

Because we seem to be less fluid,

And less malleable

Than we would have wished. 


Most of the surface, and the pretext, and the confines,

Were set in stone, long before the consequence was known. 


Adolescent hands trembled as we traced the blueprints,

Discovering the means,

Determining function,

And why we were constructed. 


And we would do that for months then,

Years end,

But the time has only just began,

We draw conclusions, with experiments, 


Figuring out that maybe I’ll just be an instrument, 


But why didn’t anyone tell me this? 


What if I wasn’t okay with it? 


I am a tool, to be used.

Another mass-produced machine of the generation. 


Programmed with a conscious, conditioned by conduction. 


In greased gears,

Creep deep fears, that 


I.

Am just.

A piece. 


But with just a dream, 


Just believe, 


Maybe being just a part, 


Is just enough, 


If the whole is


Just what you want

To be a part of.