Maybe I Was Programmed This Way

I am broken.

Broken by words repeating themselves over and over in my head. 

As if they are my personal life source, yet they seem to be the only thing killing me.

I am uncertain.

Perhaps that's why I repeat the things I said I'd learn from,

And then question why I didn't listen.

I am rebellious.

In the small ways, at least,

Like slurping down a milkshake in the dead of a winter afternoon storm.
Or slipping in an extra line to break the structure.

I am a dreamer.

Wishing on stars and dandelions for the things that seem impossible,

But that I still have hope for.

I am contradictory.

A stubborn pushover in my arguments.

And simply complicated in my thoughts.

I am excitable.
Finding happiness in the small things about life,
Like watching sparklers throw a shower of light to the asphalt.

I am thoughtful.
Wanting to change things out of my control,
To fix things that are far too lost.

I am defensive.
Defensive over nearly everything, even the things that shouldn't matter.
Just to try and prove myself to people who shouldn't affect me.

I am human.
Plagued with flaws and insecurities,
but no robot could dream to be my kind of perfection, in fact, robots can't dream at all.