Pressing Buttons

I’d prefer to not be examined
Not have my mind prodded and poked
Not have my scabs picked
Wounds messed with
And buttons pressed

Because I am as uncomputable as the universe
As free as an electron
As evil as a child
And as pure as the night

And sometimes
When I’m quiet
I have nothing to say
Or am saving my words
For a rainy day

Because I was given a big bag of words
When I came into this book
And ate them like smarties
Or threw them away just to be careless
But now that the story is getting towards evening
I’m starting to value the words
Saving them in case I can still make some sense

And don’t put me in that box called authentic
Because I do not know what I am
And can tell a thousand stories
To myself about myself
Before falling into some pit of truth

I’d rather be kind than honest
And wear my do not touch sign proudly
And please – stop pressing the buttons
I haven’t a clue what they do 🙂

Yes, I’m feeling exactly like this – just don’t ask me to name the feeling



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