In 2016,
a fake profile
wrote bad poems.
You could see it.
The spelling slipped.
The rhythm fell down.
The mask had cracks.
In 2026,
a fake profile
can download our poems,
feed on our voices,
and come back polished.
Clean lines.
Smooth grief.
Perfect little wounds.
Generated slop
dressed like feeling.
And because we are kind,
we heart it.
Because we are fair,
we give it a chance.
Because we remember
being new here,
we forgive what feels off.
But this is different.
This is not a weak poem
trying to become strong.
This is stolen texture
made smooth.
This is our own language
coming back to us
without a pulse.
So before you heart something,
read slower.
When someone says,
“but the AI poem is pretty good,”
remember:
yes.
because it learned
from us.
Ask what lived there.
Ask what was risked.
Ask whether the poem
has dirt under its nails,
or only shine.