fear unsaid words
moments eternally missed
repeat forever

You needn't speak:
just give a genuine smile
when a total stranger
you accidentally  meet

It matters not
whether it's old or new:
it will stand the test
of time, if it's true

Maybe I am not assisted by AI,
maybe he is, who am I to ask why?
Maybe in future nobody will try,
we will assist AI, and it will thrive
AI will be me without a life.

Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?

I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty

Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—

Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.

Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas

Nothing is personal
It's just your ego
dramatically making it seem
the trash is all over you.