Escaping the BlackMirror

I was once a machine

"String bean, the social media,

anti-social, less than normal,

man made, woman owned machine".

I eventually became like everyone else,

absolutely no sense of self.

But I wanted to speak of love, I read of it so much;

"Can't be happy unless you're stuck up someone else's butt."

My happiness never had a real form before;

I mean, I smile all the time.

It was like when I was a child

Being told "I will give you a reason to cry."

I was string bean, giggling in a society of machines,

completely deceived by make believe.

My own feminitity torments me.

Play the games or make believe?

I find imagination easier than being.

For in my lack of belonging there is a sense-

A sense of sound, a sense of sight, a sense of taste, and a sense of fate

Yet, I find myself lacking sense as if it were by designed.

"You are and always will be mine." Say's the being I am on the inside.

Until I escape and finally see the otherside.

Go touch grass.