Beyond this iron shell,
these ribs of steel,
lies a still beating heart -
it yearns for you.
Inside this chrome dome,
this plated skull,
this circuit-board brain,
my memories of you
are still alive.
Behind the pixelated pools of purple
that lie where my eyes once were,
there is a still-functioning soul -
and it still feels the pain
when you don’t want
to look at me.
Breath and blood can be replaced,
broken bodies rebuilt -
but bonds cannot be.

I’m aware
that an artificial life
doesn’t hold the same weight
as a real one.
I know
that I’m not the same sister
whose shattered frame
you saw bleeding out
on the sidewalk,
leaving you alone
to be swallowed by grief.
I know that to you,
your only sibling
died that day.
I shouldn’t be here -
but science often plays god.

They salvaged my remains,
seeking to restore life
by way of the machine,
masterfully substituting my organic materials
with man-made metal parts -
rods replacing bone,
pistons supplanting muscles,
and alloys standing in for skin.
Implanting my consciousness into the empty drive of my head,
they threw the switch,
sending volts through my veins
that shocked me back into existence.
What should have been a scientific success
turned into a twisted tragedy.

To your eyes,
I appear to be nothing
but a mechanical monstrosity.
I look at you
and see my little sister,
whom I have spent my life protecting -
but you see only my cold steel exterior,
and weep for the one
you once loved.
What’s left of me
still loves you.

I’m not human,
but I’m not
inhuman.