He walks across the field to talk to his friends.
He can't hear them, as he's much too tall.
He wants to tell them his newest installment in his tech, yet he's too monotone for them to feel like listening.
He doesn't have much expression, for he is a robot, after all.
Yet this robot just wants to talk to his human friends anyway. He always felt like he was improving. That he was doing better.
But was he? Or was he just sacrificing personality for knowledge and tech. That's what it felt like to him. Yet it also didn't.
He was only doing what was right to him. Yet he always felt like he was on another plane of existence.
Was it so hard to just get along? Yet some people would even compare themselves to him, despite the robot pleading and congratulating his friends.
It didn't mean much to them however. They just still compared themselves. The robot felt like he would've been better if he just was scrapped.
Yet his maker said that he's one of his proudest creations. He was happy for the robot, and wanted him to continue what he was doing. He was making advancements.
I am the robot. I don't feel like I'm human sometimes.
I want to feel more variously so bad. And I do sometimes. I am horrible at expressing them with friends however.
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Psychology Anthology:Optus Jargon
PoetryLife. Life is complex. Life hurts. Life loves. Sometimes you love life. Sometimes you hate it. Sometimes you just want to give it all up. Sometimes you just want to stay in a place, forever. Sometimes it's never. Sometimes it's always. Sometimes you...
