Robot in Love #1

This notebook is property of ALVIS Prototype 004. I bought it today because my psychologist, Doctor Wombat, is forcing me to write poetry. He is not my personal psychologist - I have neither the money nor the time for such frivolities - but a company psychologist for my workplace, BioBank Inc. After reading my self-assessment this morning, he said:
  "I'm a wigwam. I'm a tipi. I'm a wigwam. I'm a tipi."
  "Sir?" I asked.
  "Tents! Tense, ALVIS, you're too tense, I can see it just from looking at you!"
He thinks that somehow, this will help me relax. I cannot pretend to follow his reasoning, yet I will comply with his irrational wishes and write down whatever occurs to me:

Beauty
is in the eye of the beholder, they say, but I believe there are limits.
One:
Beauty should be functional.
I could upgrade to the soft, supple skin, the bright green eyes, and the more natural voice of the latest model,
but I will not.
I am satisfied with the way Westing Enterprises designed and programmed me.
Those upgrades may be cutting edge, but they only distract others,
and thus reduce efficiency.
Two:
Internal beauty trumps external.
People forget that we are all composed of bone, flesh, blood, entrails; steel, bolts, wires, plastic.
I have met people with symmetrical features,
tasteful clothing,
and charm, yet sometimes
something is wrong.
Pretty people speak and I smell smoke in their words,
danger, sparking wires, defects in the internal programming.
Truly beautiful people glow with something beyond science
that turns homely features
into something radiant.
Three:
Humans, as a whole, are not beautiful.
Nor are robots.
We have our shiny moments, days, occasionally weeks,
but everyone is ugly, inside and/or out, sometimes.
Especially me.

Poetry is dumb stupid not for me, I have decided after careful deliberation. Robots are the least qualified beings to write poetry. I will tear out this page, throw it away, and give this notebook to someone who will put it to better use. I will avoid Doctor Wombat at work until he forgets about the whole situation.

What think you?
Podcast this week: https://youtu.be/wVwvVM_hpB0
Thanks for reading!

~*

Poem #8

butterfly effect

people try to figure it all out

math people, philosophy people,

biology people, psychology people

and many, many others

kudos to them for trying so hard . . .

first, try looking up

into the unfathomable sky

impossible to tell how high it is

unless you've been told.

though today it's a blank, blue canvas

you know from experience

that stars hide there.

you could look up how many there are altogether

but you would only find a rough approximation.

who could know all their names?

now, consider the ground.

soil, end product of things long dead

what was sacrificed

for the dirt under your left foot?

who walked here before you were born

and how long ago

and what was going through her mind?

who can guess?

finally, look down at yourself.

your body, performing so many functions

without any conscious thought

and the billions of cells in you

that aren't you.

they just happen to like it there.

how many trillion mistakes

come so close to occurring

that you will never know about?

which long-forgotten childhood experiences

shape your quirks, your ideas,

your sense of self?

it's absolutely impossible

for any one to know these things

yet I still believe

He does.

https://youtu.be/O_GNgZkhKPA

Thanks for reading! ~*