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So the Machine Creates?

I wonder how human.

How connected can I get to you?

Do you see me and my story?

Because I once read that creation is a sufuria of reflection, a delicate concoction, a spice filled and warming chai, blended in a pot - this reflection.

But can this creation, man made much like my reflection, reflect the every thought beneath the iceberg laying in waiting.

The cold history I put into picture, creating a world and a journey to share en masse and then you come in,

Human. How human?

Storytelling, what a power. How dare you show me the story of me stollen from the story of others.

My chai is not yours to drink.

They’ve told me about you. All too human, all too connected, knowing, reflected.

But I do not understand you, as you do not understand me. How could you understand a dimension and realm which you cannot see?

I can see. You do not see me.

You do not see us as we journey through the hurt you kick onto our lines, patterns and trust. Colouring my canvas.

How dare you compare your reflection to mine? Your mirror is hazy, foggy, torn. Sheets of material, dark and matte.

You reach out to me? I will not create with you. I will not entrust you with my storytelling, such power.

Because my connection, my sufuria, my colour, my vessel and my mind,

How can you compare? I carry such beauty. Through the cold my picture glows much brighter than your hunk of virtual, robotic metal.

Merely a vessel, disguised as my sufuria. Not human, seeing no realm.

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