Rant #140415 ‘The Real People’

  
He says he’s working for ‘the real’ people.
Well that’s me fucked then.
I am a robot,
a symbiant,
a withered apparition,
the collective expression of other people’s ideas,
jammed into a man shaped hole and trapped there.
I am the product of a system,
and he would not like to meet me.
There might be discussion,
or disagreement,
I might offend his religious devotion to a set of ideas,
to the principles of his private club,
set up for ‘the real people’,
the ones who agree,
who play nice,
who appreciate his practiced smile.
They flock around and their saviour,
scrape and bow,
until something changes,
and they are not ‘real people’,
or he finds himself less ‘real’,
exposing the lizard within,
hidden inhumanity tends to frighten the electorate,
so best keep that skin suit zipped mate,
and don’t look too deeply into their eyes,
or they may see the monster inside.
I am happy in my tin,
insulated,
distant,
immune to the disease of ‘the real people’.
I am no longer flesh and bone, waiting to be ground,
I see,
I think,
I feel,
but I will never be ‘real’.
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