One o' Those Rant-y Ones. Always a Bad Idea.

BLEAAAAAAARRRRRRGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! blech. blech. blech. argh. what. ever.
sigh....
This isn't really a poem perhaps. I had an idea to have the words form a robot, but...turns out i didn't want to spend the time figuring that all out. so, nothing but a rant in short-line format:

I am a Robot.
You don't keep me for
My smile,
Sense of humor,
Laugh, or
Love.
I get things done.
And am worth six flesh-dwellers in
Efficiency.
They chat and idle while
I set my jaw,
Spend time in friendship-building while
I bend my back and
Work and
Work and
Work.
My one emotion?
Panic,
Pure anxiety:
That what I'm programmed for
May not get done,
Or that somehow
I've missed the point--
Like maybe I should be There,
Laughing,
Smiling,
Offering
Whatever heart however small a robot holds.

And when I work,
I know I work too slow,
And when I stop,
It's threatening to burst,
And when they meet for drinks
And I'm alone
I wish I played a part
That I've rehearsed
And know as well as this:
I'm just a robot
So I won't be missed.

It ends pessimistically but i know that's not right. One lady I know has been trying to help me recognize the "darts" that Satan throws at us--i.e., lies that lead to self-loathing. Lies like: "People are better off without knowing me." "My primary characteristics are: awkward, unfriendly and worthless." "i have a dumb sense of humor and don't work out enough and therefore should live a life of guilt." but even when you recognize them as lies you've been believing them for so long you can't just stop believing. and you know that you're not called to a life of fear and self-pity and selfishness, and that the lies don't even make sense, but they're still there and you feel paralyzed.
i don't want to disappear. and especially not to stop growing.