I am my own robot bodyguard:
When you are away, I feel like a dog.
I whine, I cry on cue, like a preprogrammed robot.
I do everything to impress you: I backflip,
through the house, knocking over your novels
like a demented gatekeeper
to a future argument and attack.
The future attack
will be verbal, because I’m not a dog
who does not know better. I am the gatekeeper
to your happiness, so I’m told. A robot
meant to be logical, not whine like a woman in a novel.
I should not be prone to backflips.
But the urge inside me is to backflip,
and so I shrink from your attack,
hiding behind a novel,
wishing I owned an actual dog
to protect me. Or a robot
bodyguard; my imaginary liberations’ gatekeeper.
Then one day, I meet a different kind of gatekeeper.
I saw a shabby moth with torn wings doing backflips
through the air, unlike any robot
and suddenly I wanted to attack
my own life. My desire for a guard dog
vanished, and so did my hiding place in novels.
Fear filled me, and a novel
I don’t need them. I can attack
my situation without an army of robots.
Like an emotionless robot gatekeeper, I fled,
taking only my novels, I back flipped away.
I’ll not be attacked again, and I’m sure as hell adopting a dog.
** Also not about me.