Honey, The Kids Are Robots

I am not a robot.
You would believe the opposite,
but I devour the humanity you leave behind.
The world outside of our cages is cruel
and condescending.
Mom and Dad don't know how to tell their kids
that we won't live forever,
so they make us feel as though we are invincible
even though our fragile minds are defeated with repetition
again and again
and again...and again...
Ah, tell me about it.
They tell us that one day,
we’ll become just as great,
but we don’t want to become great,
we just want to become something.
Many want to become anything other than Mom and Dad
and that’s the sad truth.
They’re supposed to set a prime example,
But their artificial minds have been permanently wired.
There’s no change in circuit.
It’s just the same old dialogue.
Our brains are being ground by the media
and the program is forced down our throats.
We are given half-truths
and if not that,
then lies piled onto a spoon and chugga-chugga-choo-choo!
Here comes the lie train!
Open wide!
Chomp!
We gobble it down because we're all just children
and we are the children of children.
How could any of us know better
when our young minds are taught by those feeding us
who are the better liars
and those that criticize us
who are the better judgement?
We are programmed like robots
to do what we were born to do;
make money,
follow the rules,
stay in line,
make a change,
but keep your mouth shut,
wear a tie if you’re a boy,
wear a skirt if you’re a girl,
and if you’re a boy, pull up your sleeves.
if you’re a girl, pull up your stockings.
Don’t show your legs too much.
You look like a hooker.
Don’t wear makeup.
You look like a girl.
Our parents scowl when they see us
because they keep thinking we’re caught on overdrive,
but how could we be okay?
Our metal minds are melding
and we’re beginning to think that it’s all wrong.
The system is corrupted
and we’ve been told to just fall in line,
but we know so well that it won’t change for us.
We know what you did.
There's an error in your data,
but you have chosen corruption
over correction.
We are surrounded by machines driving machines.
Oh, the disbelief and horror,
but they leave it to us to repair ourselves.
How can we know better
when they refuse to let us know
and their regrets are passed down
through their most deadly lie,
love.
What kind of love is so unempathetic?
Could it really be unconditional
when the children of children
are playing in a dollhouse together
and the moment one steps out from behind the plastic doors,
the other shuts them in.
I’m not a robot.
I’m as close to a human as I want to be.
I may not be fully mature,
but I know what I want.
I would rather live in blood and flesh
than be tangled in wires and code,
so I implore you,
check ‘yes’ if you’re not a robot.
Metal hearts may be durable,
but can they really ache?