The Human Way

My struggles in socializing and connecting

         I always know what I’m supposed to want.
The magnetic attraction of conversational repetition with the distraction of intermissions
         like the sayings aren’t all copy and paste.
I love the intimate human connection and creation replete with infinite repetition,
but unfolding my pleading for that evolved addiction always ends in hating the insincere invitations.
         If I don’t do it all right, they’ll say to me all day:
                   “Focus focus focus on your hocus pocus focus!”

         They never know what I truly want.
They choreographically repeat that my personality is geographically unique without the “illogical” social conditioning
         like I’m not also a copy and paste.
50/50 human genes make up my dialogue seeking dopamine thinking repetition is hollow and uninteresting,
but all I want is novelty with a little bit of relentless absurdity.
         But if I simply do my mind all right, they’ll say to me all day:
                   “Just stop asking questions and I’ll give you an A!”

         I never know what I’m supposed to know.
If my natural tone is “argumentative” I should be a natural essayist in her natural habitat
         but apparently it isn’t copy and paste.
They tell me I’m a natural inventive and it feels like an unnatural incentive to sabotage my ineffective intestines,
but they won’t even mention my two natural average eyes or how they’re brown like everybody else’s.
         If they keep their lips zipped, they’ll say it with their face:
                   “You’re not applying, adapting, assimilating into the natural human way!”

         I never know what they want.
It’s always that forensic intention in their two or more eyes talking about my behavioral correction
         like they couldn’t connect with me, so they had to copy and paste.
Empathy feels like I’m doing it wrong when they look at me with pity like I’m unwell,
and I’m so afraid they’ll say this package deal of me is ruined when we’re both unheld.
         If I keep my lips zipped, they’ll turn their heads away:
                   “Who’s that? I don’t care to know her name.”

         I always know what I want.
I want to select my surroundings with intention and invention,
and people I get to connect with without appearing as an apparition.
         Copy and paste is something I can understand,
but I’m so unhappy with being unable to follow The Human Way.
In writing, a deviation can be difficult to follow, so I have to reassure logic in revisions,
         and all that means is I’ll have to adapt without conforming to convention,
because I have to get used to having two eyes instead of four or a whole collection,
and I can’t always get it right, but with every new try comes more knowledge of this connection.
         If I keep falling down these rabbit holes of revelation seeking, I want people to say:
                   “It’s just how she goes, don’t worry, she’s being herself.”
         because eventually I’ll come out with a better understanding,
and I’ll figure out how to talk to you as easily as you talk to everybody else.

         I never knew what I was supposed to want.
but maybe that’s okay, and I can try to find the origin of all this commotion.
         What is it with the fascination and reverence with copy and paste?
What are the rules? Am I allowed to break them? Do I need permission?
I think I’ve forgotten and I need to relearn like I had to with division.
         If I do, luckily I know from experience:
                   There are no rules, it’s only suggestions, but that’s what makes it difficult.
         But then again, we were all taught to never start a sentence with a preposition.

I think I want to try again.
         Find a new solution.
Maybe I’ll get it right some time,
         and find out why copy and pasted quotes are so useless.
Maybe that’s because incessant repetition often results in emotional dilution,
         so that would mean they aren’t always stupid:
                   “You never fail until you stop trying.”
                             – Albert Einstein
         And maybe to stop trying means to avoid completely
because I couldn’t have found a stable stagnation
         from those depths in the rabbit hole of isolation
without falling down that hole with my two eyes fixed on the pupils of information
and finally noticing I could no longer feel the sunlight’s sensation
         nor hear the echoes of me trying to stop the fall, so repetition was my only cushion:
                   “All I know is that I know nothing.”