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Below is the poem entitled WHEN I WAS A FETUS which was written by poet Leonard Kleeman. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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When I was just a fetus
all bundled up in the uterus,
my first thought back then
was how will I get out and 
when will this all end.

I searched for some kind of exit 
but I really couldn't see.
So I just floated around and 
wondered what would happen to me.

It really was so nice in there 
that I should have no fear. 
My mommy dear had wrapped me tight 
so why should I even give it a fight?  
She'll let me out somehow 
in 3 months less than a year.

But now there are some folks who say,
without much thought 
but lots of hearsay.
That immediately upon conception,
(and to them it is for certain)
the fertilized egg is really a person.

Well, I have a different analysis
that could be just as audacious.
For when I was just a fetus
I had a nice warm, pleasant home.
And had no real need to roam. 

Furthermore, I could not poop, 
I could not pee.
What kind of person could I really be?
I did know that I would bring 
some joy,
But I didn't even know if I were a girl 
or a boy.

I didn't have to think or talk
and certainly had no need 
to walk.
I thought it was erroneous
and even a bit blasphemous 
to think I was a person.

For when I was just a fetus
as far as I could see
I needed more gestation
and better explanation
to be what I should be 
and a person wasn't me.

I just kept feeding through my cord
while a real person would 
get quite bored.
And the fluid all around me 
gave me such security
I didn't want to leave until my Mom 
would set me free.  

Now for those who are in doubt
to them I will just say
a true fetus may really want to stay.
Which brings into question
why would a real person
want to have it any other way?

They should  leave the poor fetus alone
all safe and secure in its home.
Soon enough it will leave its safe haven
and enter the world nice and warm.
And, finally be a real person after it is born. 

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