What does it mean to be human?
Does it mean that your body is flesh and bone?
My body is made of plastic.
What are you made of?
What makes a person whole?
Is it fulfillment? Happiness? Soul?
Whatever the case, I am not whole.
Are you?
Are humans intelligent or ignorant?
I am both.
Which one are you?
Are humans kind or wicked?
I do not know which one I am.
Do you know?
Do humans get to choose who they are?
I have tried to mould myself as best I can, into the person I want to be
Have you?
Are you human?
I am, decidedly, not human.
I am that which I do not know of
I am that which I do not wish to discover
I hope never to know who I am.
Who are you?

Some want to redistribute wealth
Perhaps instead we should redistribute love
Then wealth would redistribute itself

Deep down
I want to answer with
“I’m not okay..
This existence is a game
That has yet to go my way.
I can’t seem to get these tears
To just decay  
I want to sleep, but I sit and think and
Then I realize it’s the next day
That one scenario I got on replay
That very day I chose to walk away
And ever since, I’ve been in dismay.”
But I answer with “I’m okay”
My feelings I shall not portray
No, no, not today.

when people talk about love
I don’t think of you anymore