Just a Poem

Machine

 

They all want

me to be

just a machine.

 

Sent here

not to need sleep

or fun

or friends

or feelings.

 

Sent here

just to do their work

with heart of iron

pistons shooting instead of breath

instead of muscle and bone.

 

They want me to be a machine

nothing human

nothing to love

nothing important.

 

They want a machine-

perfection.

I can’t be these things.

So they try to break me

to put me back together.

 

 

I don’t understand

why they do this.

Don’t they know

there’s no such thing as perfect?

 

Not even in machines.

 

One piece of advice – and I know it’s hard to follow (I struggle with it too) – don’t let them turn you into a machine.

Love,

Ivy

 

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