~Esther Mitchell, 2014~

I am a machine,

A soulless thing meant to be used,

Given little thought,

Even less compassion,

And absolutely no respect.

I am a machine,

A thing without emotion,

Without independent thought,

A cog within a bigger work,

Discarded without thought,

When I’ve been ground away to a useless husk.

I am a machine,

No compromise need be made,

No compassion need be given,

No proof of life need be acknowledged,

Your conscience forever clear,

Because I can’t feel your abuse.

But what if I’m not a machine?

What if I have thoughts?

What if I feel, just like you?

What if your words, your actions,

Bleed out my heart and soul and leave me broken?

Would it change how you see me,

If you believed I was worth real concern?

Or would it not matter to you,

That your inability to see my humanity,

Is at the core of why I stagger and fall?

But I’m a machine…

Or is that just how you see me?


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