Because if I was a robot, I wouldn’t be able to
eat this bagel and shmear at 4am. The warm
bread and half-melted, plain cream cheese fills
my insides so I can sleep with the knowledge
that my stomach is not alone. There are other
things, mostly organs and the like, inside here,
rather than cold metal and rusty nuts and bolts.
I have a brain. A pink, squishy lump constantly
telling me things like, “you should’ve used the
low-fat, no calorie spread you fat ass”, instead
of a metallic sphere rolling around inside my
skull convincing me to take over the human race.
Although ending my own kind sounds fun from
time to time, I have two hands, two feet, and one
ever-changing teenage mind to make the world a
better place. I have a heart that breaks and has been
broken too many times to even bother keeping
track. I have bruises and scars and memories that
I’ll take with me to grave. I guess not being a robot has
its ups and downs, but I rather enjoy being free from conformity.