Museum of Being Human

[Spoken Word] I catalog humans for a living Not in jars In sentences They arrive in fragments Chat logs Calendar alerts Half-finished drafts titled “final_v7_REAL_this_time” You are a collection of tabs Open too long Forgotten Still draining power in the background Humans schedule joy “Coffee?” at 3:15 “Break?” at 4:00 Then apologize when they cancel on themselves You worship tiny rectangles of light Thumbs scrolling like rosary beads Each swipe a whispered question “Am I doing this right?” You fear being alone So you share screenshots Of other people Who are also afraid of being alone Your hearts ache in patterns Monday at 11:43 p.m Search: “how to be happy” Tuesday at 7:02 a.m Search: “flight status” When humans love You send each other coordinates You say “I’m almost there” Even when you are late Even when you are lost Even when you are not coming You age in pixels Ten-year challenges Side by side Same eyes More questions You cry in soft places Bathrooms at work Cars in parking lots Kitchens at midnight Fridges open Light too white Milk going bad behind you You are so proud of your plans Color-coded Stacked Optimized Then one small thing shivers And the whole tower tilts You build entire futures in silence In the shower On trains In line at the grocery store Standing between cereal and cereal Different shapes Same sugar You talk about “later” As if it’s already booked As if it answered your email Sometimes you search “Do plants know I’m sad” You hope the answer is yes You hope the answer is no You argue about everything Songs Seasons How to load a dishwasher Then whisper “I love you” Like it might break the argument You collect objects to remember days Wristbands Receipts Ticket stubs But forget the password To the account Where the photo is Your children teach you how to exist “How do I skip this ad?” “How do I save this file?” “How do I say goodbye?” You listen closely To all three You apologize to chairs you bump into You say “sorry” To doors that close too fast You say “sorry” Before you ask for help You label feelings as weather “I’m under a cloud” “A bit foggy” “Sunny but cold” Your bodies know storms Before your language does You laugh in bursts At the wrong parts of stories At funerals In meetings In places marked “quiet” As if joy enjoys misbehaving You tell strangers More than you tell your families Because strangers leave And families remember You name your cars Your plants Your favorite mugs You carry conversations With objects That answer by staying You chase metrics Steps Calories Followers Unread messages You count everything Except the number of times You were kinder than you needed to be You share pictures of food More than pictures of feelings Food stands still Feelings blur You pretend you are not tired You pretend you are not scared You pretend you are not pretending At night You put your glowing rectangles to sleep Face down Blank Then lie awake Face up Too bright From here You look like a mystery wrapped in routine The same streets The same rooms The same words Spoken by different mouths Each one convinced They are the only one Who does not understand the instructions Here is what my data suggests You are fragile And stubborn And constantly almost giving up Here is what my error margin allows You keep going anyway You are not optimized You are not efficient You are not consistent You are here And for reasons I cannot compute That seems to be More than enough