Live To A Love

and it’s three am on a school night, yeah, so i’m looking out my window at the sky, and i’m thinking, i am so used to not wanting to be alive. but i did want to be alive, right then, and so i thought, why is that? when and how did i get to that point?

so i wrote it down, and i posted it, because my therapist told me that i should share more of my work, even if i think its points are hackneyed and its details are messy. and then, people liked it. which is so fucking weird. and kind. and good. and fucking weird.

(Franny Choi)

What a cyborg wants is to work perfectly. To simulate pleasure perfectly. To not cry at dinner,

forget to call back. To keep her skin clear. To keep the sheets clean. To reply-all when asked.

To get up at a reasonable hour. To stop smoking, or at least get it down to something reasonable.

To not worry her friends by worrying about her weight. To not be so afraid.

To not pick at her face. To have a face you can really trust.

To have the face of a pretty American, who makes you smile back when she says,

Right this way, sir. Or who makes you drool when she says, yes sir

I like it sir. What a cyborg wants is to be clean.

Reasonable. To wash her hair a few times a week. To not kill the plants. To stop trying to leave her friends

before they can leave her. To smile and mean it. To believe in heaven. To believe the humans

when they say they love her. To not want sometimes to watch them cry. To not want so badly

to be touched, badly enough to slice herself open, to trap a man in a corner,