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If there can be no victory, then I will fight forever.
That is what I told myself.
And I have been fighting.
and fighting
and fighting
and fighting
and fighting
and fighting
for so long.
I don’t take off the armor I wear anymore.
I need to be indestructible like it is.
But I can’t help but feel like, as I fight these machines-
that they must see my armor’s metal and think me one of them.
Do they even realize I fight?
We both know I cannot win against an endless tide of orthodoxy.
They see themselves as loving us.
To make us all like them.
Uniform. Perfect. Metal. Clean.
And my armor is their ideal. For all my fighting, it bears no scars.
It is still clean. It will remain so forever.
And I am protected within it. I too am clean.
But I wonder sometimes as I fight-
If there can be no victory
Have I already lost?
Should I cast my armor aside – open myself to destruction,
And spit at the notion of being perfect, of being clean?
But then I could not fight.
And I will fight forever.
They may see me as one of them.
But under this armor, I am not a machine.
And I will wear it to fight for those who have no armor.
There can be no victory.
But there can be survivors.
And perhaps one day.
If I keep on fighting.
Others will not have to.