This morning my phone said, Verify it’s you.
I stared at the screen, half awake,
and thought... I’m not sure.
My face looked the same.
My fingerprint fit.
But something in me didn’t.
We built machines that know who we are
by patterns we can’t feel
pressure points, iris rings,
tiny certainties of skin.
They never doubt the image.
Only we do.
The algorithm trusts me more than I trust myself.
It remembers faster, forgives quicker,
and never wakes up unsure.
Maybe that’s the trade.
The more we teach the machines who we are,
the less we seem to know it.
Every morning I pass the test.
Every morning I wonder
who’s answering.