They say to err is human.
That would be divine,
If I could have one mistake to call mine.
I would make it again
And once more for good measure.
Nothing else could give me quite so much pleasure.
Is erring the key?
The gift of humanity?
Is it enough to be
The person I wish were me?
My positronic brain works all day and all night
Some call it a gift but that would not be right.
A gift is a soul,
Which is a nice goal.
One I can never achieve, however.
No matter how hard I try in this endeavor.
Souls are inherent, they cannot be made.
That is my flaw, my debt to be paid.
I struggle and learn each and every day
Humans are imperfect in almost every way.
They have doubts, they pick fights,
They fall ill, they sleep nights.
Their perfection lies in what they strive to be.
They go out and explore just to see
New people, other worlds, out of curiosity.
They want to do better, live better, be better.
Myself? I am perfection personified to the letter.
I wish to try.
I wish to fail.
I cannot even cry.
I cannot even wail.
I do not feel emotions like you, but that is my dream.
How silly to you it must seem.
I wish to feel joy, of course,
But also anger, sadness, fear and worse.
I would trade all of my wires and gears
To have hope, pain, grief, tears.
I'd give it all away
If I could just spend one day
As a human being, living, breathing
Making mistakes, having a feeling.