I hate this body.
Not because I'm ugly or fat,
Not because I have acne and scars,
Not because every day I'm told it's not right...
I hate this body,
Because it's not mine...
My thoughts are my own...
My words and emotions;
Inside it's all me but outside...
It's not right...
It's warm and wet,
A pulse beats unendingly,
Everything moves,
But the rhythm does not compute...
The convulsing of organs is foreign,
Making me uneasy...
It's far different to the whirring of fans,
Or overclocked processors...
They say veins are like an elaborate system of wires:
They're wrong...
It feels like cobwebs,
And I'm the fly tangles among them...
They cling like Red Weed.
It's uncomfortable,
I hate it.
I don't need these,
I need cables...
Everything is...
Squishy.
It's disgusting!
I'm made for gears and coils,
Steam powered,
Made of metal!
Not this...
The human brain is inefficient:
Slow,
And limited.
A faulty hard drive that deletes important files,
But I can't remove that god-awful music!
I try to enter sleep mode,
But the files refuse to close,
Everything exploding until I stop responding...
Overheat,
Malfunction,
Shut down,
Defragment,
Reboot...
Muscles, blood, flesh, skin
WHY?!
What on earth is the point?
This body isn't mine,
This form does not compute,
But the hope to change it is quixotic...
The program is still running,
Do you want to kill it?
Cancel: ERROR
Cancel: ERROR
Cancel: ERROR
Okay...
YOU ARE READING
Poetry!
PoetryWhen Monty Oum passed, we were told to honour him by "simply doing something creative. Use your imagination to make the world a better place in any way that you can. If you know Monty like we do, then you know he would certainly be doing that if he...
