I am a heartless, soulless wench. I have no emotions. I feel no compassion. I am a superhuman, a humanoid robot, a data inputting machine. Through the lens of harsh reality I see the world how it actually exists, without the fog of humanity to fight through.
At least, that’s what I think I am.
That’s what I think I am until the stress of my impending doom (and by doom I mean college) nearly snaps me in half and breaks down whatever wall in your eyeball holds back all your tears.
That what I think I am until I go for so long without eating and sleeping that my body shuts down and forces me to remember that I’m not actually made of metal by shaking every inch of me to the point where I can hardly walk.
That’s what I think I am until my frustration with society and with myself forces me to a Cliffside sunset, head on my steering wheel, heartache an unwelcome visitor in my passenger seat.
That’s what I think I am until I fall in love again, which seems to be a regular occurrence for me, and I hate myself for feeling things a robot would not feel.
That’s what I think I am until I realize… as much as I fight it, deny it, wish it away, emotions are the fuel that drive me. My poetry may be born of apathy and disgust, but those are feelings too. So I guess I can’t write poetry anymore. Robots probably aren’t very good at that. And they probably don’t have good friends either. Strike two.
I hope this isn’t a “three strikes and you’re out” kind of thing because I’m pretty sure if I thought about it too hard, I’d find strike three.
But that won’t stop me from trying to be like Data from Star Trek. He wished to be human and I wish more than anything to stop. What good can a mushy bag of bones do in a world of technology? What can a wrinkled human brain do that could not be done better and more efficiently by a matrix generator?
So tonight when I mistake Jupiter for a star next to the moon and make a wish as humans are wont to do, I’ll wish that one day I will be a heartless, soulless wench. I will wish to have no emotions, feel no compassion. To be superhuman, and a humanoid robot and a data inputting machine. Then I won’t have to learn how to control that mushy red thing in my chest. I can just replace it with a flash drive.