let me place my finger on the dot
let me bring out the heart that you shot
let me visit the soul that does rot
let me remember the arguments we fought
let me remind you that you speak and feel like a robot
let me let you remember the lessons i taught

there is a car that drives by here
when it passes things happen
all types of things
good, bad, indifferent
they don't know who drives it
it could be a drone car
or driven by satan himself
or even jesus or an alien
this car is the global car
appearing everywhere
even on your street
beware when you see it
something may happen
good, bad or indifferent

my name is ace
i am seven years old
i want to be a writer one day!
i really don’t have many friends,
but i love books and that’s enough for me
bzzt
my name is ace
i am ten years old
i’ve written my first narrative!
even though i stayed up past my bedtime
i got an a+ and got to read it in front of my class
they kinda laughed at me,
but my teacher was proud so that’s all that matters
it kind of hurt that they didn’t like it though
bzzt
my name is ace
i am twelve years old
maybe i don’t want to be a writer?
everyone else wants to be
a doctor, or a veterinarian
we’re not allowed to write narratives in class anymore
the school told us to write essays about the american revolution instead
bzzt
my name is ace
i am fourteen years old
i laugh when people mention writing
what an impractical dream!
to be a writer is to sacrifice your heart and soul
for no profit
writing?
i vaguely remember doing that
i still do want to become an author
but i am so scared of reaching for my dream
that i have boxed it away
stored it in a closet
and now it lies abandoned
bzzt
my name is…?
i am…?
i have lost my sense of identity
in refusing myself
my dreams have left me
my eyes are blank
bzzt
my name is 203948
i am 45 years old
i lost myself to society long ago
i sacrificed my individualism
for becoming “normal”
my personality is programmed into
my actions and brain through
how others think of me
i do not resist
i cannot write any longer

His heart was like winter,
Cold but exciting.
My most favorite season,
With crisp piercing lighting.
Adventures and chills,
Through my messy black hair.
Sharp, lovely breeze,
Through the whispering air.
But as the show thickened,
The ice became tough,
And I shivered and realized,
My coat wasn't warm enough.

I was built with an iron will and a weak soul.

I was made by the best, and built to take a hit.

You can tell I was made to be hit and not hit on.

Haha.

But despite the way I'm supposed to work...

I might as well malfunction now.