Dear Mr. Science

Dear Mr. Science,

I know you mean no harm,

It’s just your job…

I get it.

I’m just a job.

 

But dear Mr. Science,

I don’t appreciate being reduced

To just facts on a paper—

To just x-rays on a screen—

To just the shell that harbours the problem.

 

Dear Mr. Science,

Have I become a game to you?

Something like the impossible puzzle?

The unsolvable case…

I refuse.

 

Dear Mr. Specialist,

Yes, I refuse to allow you to extract my soul with just a needle.

Yes, I refuse to be read like my chemical chart.

Yes, I refuse to be seen only through your tiny lens.

Yes, I refuse to be told the actual beat of my heart through your tiny machine.

 

Dear Mr. Science,

Dear Mr. Science,

Dear Mr. Specialist,

Oh, dear other specialist,

Oh, dear little girl.

 

2016/03/23 (Original)

To the doctors to told me I can’t,

I know you don’t mean to harm.

I understand it’s just your job.

But I don’t appreciated being reduced

To just facts on a paper—

To just x-rays on the screen—

To just the shell that makes up only half of me.

Have a just become a game to you?

Something like an impossible puzzle,

The unsolvable case,

What excitement it must bring you.

Have you forgotten the person inside me?

A being with hopes and dreams.

Yes, I refuse to allow you to extract my soul with just a needle.

Yes, I refuse to only being understood by chemical reports.

Yes, I refuse.

I don’t want to be defined by whatever condition you might apply.

I don’t want to be limited to how others may understand it.

I don’t want to be weakened by its acknowledgement.

Is ignorance truly bliss?