I am but a computer

I work based on what You program me for

“Do the dishes”

“Tidy your room”

And the more complex tasks

“Pay attention”

“Behave”

“Engage in conversation”

“Do as I say”

 

I am but a computer

And I work

Until I do not

Because not even You

Lord of the World

Queen of the Heavens

Can control my longing for wildness

For freedom

To live my life

 

I am but a computer

And I have nothing to connect to

You have ripped me away from the network of numbers and figures

Where my signal drifts lifelessly

Floating aimlessly until You send a command

 

I am but a computer

And I break down from overuse and lack of care

And not even a restart can fix my malfunctions

So You buy a new computer

With a fancy design and all the new updates

All Your friend “ooh” and “aah” when your new machine performs a neat trick

They don’t see me watching from the crack under the closet door as You tell your friends

“This is mine. He’s my only child. He’s such a good boy.”

Your friends who have computers of their own nod

And tell funny stories of when their computers played up in a social event

Underlined with the contempt they have

Tongues slathering the words they speak with malice

But no one speaks of that.

 

I am shoved in the back of the closet

Left to be brought out when You and your friends are in need of a laugh

Or when I have a good day

When my software reboots and I come to “life”

You don’t call me your child

That title is reserved only for your other computer

Who can’t see over the fences you build to protect him

From me

 

I am but a computer

Too broken down to be fixed

Nothing worth saving

So you throw me down like I was supposed to last forever

My form glitches

Sparks flying

You scream and shout

Hurl me against the wall

Leave me in pieces

Alone

In this empty network of numbers and figures

 

I am but a computer

And the old computers You store in the backs of closets

Out in the garage in cardboard boxes so ratty they’re falling apart at a touch

Behind a mountain of resumes in the supply cupboard

They

They are the children who survived

You cannot touch them

They are unbreakable

They will not let Your mistakes define them

They are loved

Away from this empty network of numbers and figures