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All But A Machine
There is a stage in one's life
from child to adolescent,
where their parents become
to grow far more distant.
It matters not whether your parents are
good or a disgrace;
however no one seems to espect this event
until it blows up in your face.
You usually see it from the teachers.
"Read from page 1 to 53!"
They do not seem to realize
the teenager's true fragility.
Then later on come parents,
following the teacher's lead.
"Do the dishes after dinner."
"But I still have homework!" You plead.
"You'll figure it out, your a smart kid!"
They become your disease.
On and on, you start to fret.
"Someone help me! I'm not a machine!"
Oh how you cry and you plead.
How long must it take, the adults must think,
until they know their only a machine?
You continue to obey and plead,
soon growing numb to the scheme,
You blend into the crowd even more so,
into the teens that believe they are machines.

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This is a blurb I intend to expand on in a later, longer poem, for whenever I get the chance.