Broken Robots | Statisfaction

I am here to defend my right to be a human.
How come somebody dares to treat me like I'm just a number?
I refuse to organize my life
along the lines of gridded tracks.
My mind keeps bouncing up and down—
so tight—can't breathe—it's all around.
Such algorithms, not for humankind,
remind me of a tongue from mechatronic realm.
No way its static, code-like nature
is here to accommodate my helpless state.
Even my weirdly wired brain can sense
it isn't backed by any smart equation.
A pile of nonsense might very likely
be the only source of its foundation.
The way you articulate my case
is technically fabulous — in legal terms, indeed.
It is constructed around ideas
for rigid-wired minds to run those rails:
Rule 1 plus Regulation 5,
divided by three articles alike,
and multiplied by the root of missed deadlines.
An outcome of this hyperparabolic function:
your statisfaction that I’m wrong in every aspect.
To understand such rigid language,
should I, could I, must I rely
on expertise from mechatronic goddess —
the mighty Queen of Shitty Robots?
Perhaps she is the only person
to understand such tonguemalfunction.
While in a moment of great weakness,
I need to spark some human love
inside processors of likely broken robots.