How do I move like you?
Sway and glide like it’s gifted to you?
I count steps, check posture, don’t fidget, don’t lurk,
“act natural”—whatever that means on this Earth.
How do I dress like you?
Wear my clothes vacuum-sealed like you do?
Should I dress like that too, play contortionist chic,
even when fabric feels like torture on me?
How do I talk like you?
Pitch right, tone tight, laugh on cue.
I study reactions like answers are hidden,
but the test keeps changing and I swear it’s forbidden.
How do I wear my face like you?
Flawless symmetry, perfection held true.
Should I draw on a face just to look like I fit,
erase who I am to look “appropriate”?
I mimic the winners, not the wisdom, or facts.
Copy confident costumes, never check for the cracks.
Borrow armor from people who aren’t fighting my fight,
then wonder why the armor won't fit quite right.
Mask on mask, scripts on scripts,
Downloaded gestures, pirated lips.
I run simulations, social gymnastics,
If normal’s a sport, I’m doing mental Olympics.
They say “be yourself,” that’s a riddle, not truth,
When ‘yourself’ keeps getting rejected at youth.
So I remix behavior, edit tone, splice the grin,
Trying to sound human where the static slips in.
I'm a desynced machine, no updates provided,
so I miss all the cues, go back, rewind it.
Everyone else got the patch on day one,
I reverse-engineer 'fine' like it's never been done.
They call it masking—I call it survival couture.
Sewn smiles, tight seams, social armor du jour.
But the stitching keeps itching, the silence too loud,
I’m tired of being the only one lost in the crowd.
So tell me again—how do I move like you?
How do I act, speak, think like you do—
live like you without splitting in two,
copy the balancing act that you do?
Maybe I'm lost?
Maybe this mold’s not worth what it cost
To fit myself in plastic thin,
As if this is how I’ve always been.
Maybe I’m broke or maybe the mold’s too small,
Is different a failure or just a different call?
Your rules live quiet, encrypted, assumed,
My world needs the prompt before it's resumed.
I’m not flawless or seamless or perfect on cue,
I tried but I can’t follow the rhythm you do.
I’m a robot, a poet, a girl lost in code,
Unmasking in an incompatible world mode.