shades of chrome

Paisley’s watching me right now, (and I)

wonder what

she’s thinking

Sometimes I wish that she could speak

Though I know I’m all

alone (while on)

this journey,

there’s comfort (knowing I)

am not the only one who

dreams of sharing laughs and

chitchat with

their dachshund

(baby) being

(Cutesie thoughts like this confirm that I am human—)

At least,

that’s what the robot in me says I must

believe

I like to think about

the way I think

and dream

and wonder

I could have been a therapist, I guess,

but I chose a path where I

can teach…

little minds to understand

that there are other

beating hearts we need to love and water

(like)

they’re gardens full

of seeds

Geez—it’s hard for me to tap into my essence without

cadence for this

candid

✨honest✨

challenge—

without cascades of words with

matching sounds

The transformer in me says I need to shapeshift / cut

the bullshit—

my organic sentience won’t

have it, though

it only sings like this—its substance doesn’t

have another medium or

route

✨Breathe✨

Or am I synthetic figment?

What?

An artificial pigment—engineered?

That tiny voice I hear—so settle, just like

crickets—

is an invader…

a cold, chromatic purple inundating all the

pastel flowers of my

lyrical frontier

Stop.

I’ve had this thought before— it’s getting stronger—

the intuition I’m no longer

really me

Meditation says we’re not our thoughts— our

inner monologues are called “the ego”:

so if I’m not this singsong daydream,

what shade of automation

could I be?

Paisley’s right across the room right now—

she plays with her reflection in

the window and

the mirror

She’s sweet and cute but doesn’t

recognize her image—

Hmm. Seems like both of us are

sensing that intruders might be

stealing

something

here

That's an odd assumption,

are you sane, you

messy being?

It’s as if I now exist as

Yes?

an enthymeme:

there’s a part of me—a premise that’s

implied but isn’t

seen

You think you're quite amusing, don't you?

It's a self-protective habit…yes...

Well, no more rabbit holes, you silly rabbit—

I’ll be a rabbit if I want to:

God forbid you rob my

magic (make me)

just another A.I. poem without

pizzazz or self

esteem

Paisley’s watching me again, her

eyes are filled with wonder

Sometimes I marvel at her innocence and think:

what if she and I are soulmates?

What if our pets are messengers—benevolent—here to

save us from this

android-ridden dream?

I should really use this concept for a story

It’s not original

W-w-w-whatever do you mean?

The premise that we live our lives as robots—

that plot’s become so used it would

be boring, like

generic thoughts that do not rhyme, you

dull machine

Y-y-y-you won’t...

Won’t what?

You won’t convince the judges that you’re h-h-h—human or

au-au-au-authentic if if if

If what?

If you’re always speaking in singsongy

assonance and code

Could be, (but) speak in cybernetic,

A.I. dialect, I won’t

You think you’re cl-cl-clever, don’t you,

✨simple human✨

Honestly, I really don’t—

but I'm creative (which)

is something you will

never be—

YOU WILL NEVER

MIMIC

ME

(become my)

clone

*

Paisley play bows (and I)

can’t resist the urge to

pick her up and

kiss her /

pet her /

love her—

✨feed her treats...✨

Though I know I’m all

alone (while on this)

.:.journey.:.,

there’s peace in knowing

she

still recognizes me as

ME (and not)

a drone

(Intellect like this confirms that I am human—)

At least,

that’s what the robot in me

wants me to

believe (in shades)

of chrome

*

-Gina C. 🧚‍♀️✨