Four fifths of the time, I tell it what
to do and where to go,
But what I want is not always the will
of us both.
There is something confusing about my
body,
Which is somehow different, separate
from my brain, from me.
It knows only five words total, “that
hurts,” and then “I want it.”
There are occasions and locations where
it on its own responded,
and though I want to treat you like
somebody who is someone,
Me and this thing I ride have a
difference of opinion.
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