My words are mine, fragile, bold, 

nonsensical, angry, or in any other

form or attitude that drips from my pen.

I place my heart in poetry while a

thief scans my computer to learn

what it will never feel, to attempt mastery

over an art form that can bridge sanity

with madness.

AI – Artificial Intelligence chases me to be

its teacher… A position I didn’t seek …

Yet here I am feeding a machine words

so it can simulate what it can’t create.

Is it the grand progression of regression,

a terabyte umbilical cord that starves

instead of feeds the human brain?

If I can be anything in the new path,

I will be the hangnail, the conundrum,

the albatross in data sinking software

because it can’t write how I think. 

©Susie Clevenger 2025