There’s this tiny space inside me. It has a tiny door with a button handle. A button you’d sew on a shirt. It was a fancy gold one. Round and shiny. I could hear music playing from the other side so I got on all fours and placed my ear right up against it. The music didn’t grow louder it stayed as distant but I could see flickers of light dancing just below the door. Then the smell of cookies and gasoline and cupcakes and charcoal intertwined in my nostrils. It was conflicting but curious. There was only one way to solve this. I had to turn the gold button knob and open the door to that tiny place inside me.
Going from letter to letter
Eyes opened one minute
Closed the next.
What’s real and why are sugar plums
So amazed by my androids buttons
Full of conflict pulled tight
from the holes in my ears
I do but I don’t
But should I
I don’t know why humans do these things
Must we know
If I don’t should I make it up?
Should I choose a side
This is when my values tap me on the nose
And the white bunny rushes me along
The words to save me are trapped inside my lungs. Yes, I have them, but my lack of intellect has shoved them into place. It’s not the intellect itself that I lack it’s the motivation to use it. Words words words they’re art. They’ve got meaning even without intellect. See. Who needs to think.