If I had the right tools I'd show you
How empty my mind is, like a computer
That updates every few months,
Erasing all that data, any wisdom.
Deleted- motors still whirring
Fans still blowing upon the spinning
Of an empty disk, a blank hard-drive.
Ready to encode new preferences
New creeds, programming, ideations.
I am still searching for understanding
Of race, of society, of priorities,
Of gods, of worship, of labels,
Of love, of lovers, of choice
Of the parts of people they choose to reveal,
They choose to hide (their masks),
What they cannot choose to be, and
Cannot choose to show-
Of humanity- identity.
I don't get an opinion on any of that-
Try as I may, I will never understand.
I was born without an identity
And wisdom teeth, likewise,
I am not wise for lack of them
At least never need removal
For like wisdom teeth, the result
Of irritation is surgery, pain, and recovery
I skipped that, so that pain isn't real.