a man came up to me today
and told me I might look prettier
if I coated my mirror
with the blood of the golden goose
and call me cynical
or a caveman
or a luddite
or whatever
but I didn’t believe him.

I don’t ask for space. I take it.
I walk into rooms with my head high — not because I know all the answers, but because I know my voice matters.
I don’t shrink to fit comfort.
Not in tone, not in clothes, not in ambition.
My presence is not an apology.
My strength is not a threat — unless you fear change.
I don’t wait to be chosen.
I lead. I speak. I claim credit where it’s earned.
I don’t smile to soften the truth. I deliver it, clearly, and let it land.
I don’t work twice as hard to prove I belong — I work with precision to build what others can't even see yet.
I am not the exception. I am the evolution.
I listen. I read between words. I lead with instinct and insight.
I see dynamics you miss. I hold silence like a sword.
I know when to speak and when to let the silence do the cutting.
I will be labeled — bossy, intimidating, emotional, ambitious.
Let them call me names. I’m not here for comfort.
I’m here for impact.
I don't walk alone.
I raise others with me. I name names in rooms of power.
I am ally, mentor, co-conspirator.
And if you think you can box me in — you should’ve built a bigger box.
I’m not just surviving the system. I’m rewriting it.
I don’t just belong here. I am the future of this room.
Watch me.

AI is groupthink, it’s hewed to pre-existing work,
which it aggregates into something bland and flat.

If you don’t want your work scraped and copied by AI, try
writing off-balance ideas that aren’t for everyone and have faith
that AI will never be able to actually rival human creativity.

Deny AI the echo chamber of predictable content on which it feeds.

I polish my pieces to a pointless sheen, which gives
them an algorithmically indecipherable quality.

When it comes my to poetry, I have to admit,
I’m working through mediocrity—hoping that it’s just a phase.

If failure is essential for growth
I’m going to be a giant

But after all, someone has to define the baseline.
You’re welcome.

Ok, Let’s wax poetic..

There are thousands of stars
in that black outer-place
where gravitas holds them
firmly in place.

I fret not about avian abductions,
or unidentified flying soccers,
still, I’ve a waxed on them
in multiverse
.
.
Songs for this:
I Like You (A Happier Song) [feat. Doja Cat] by Post Malone
Late Night Talking by Harry Styles

Front page stanzas emotional; bleeding ink
tried to comply but
I sliced up my face and can hardly blink

(Will this make me famous like I want to be?)

Nah i should just go and start some tea
a wars a’coming I’m sure you've all heard:
future Chinese overlords mock Trump’s word.

**** not trynna get political tho
maybe i should just go back to my hole

with Chat GPT resurrecting my soul
– I swear, Ms. Chatbitch is not in control.

There's a chance,
I was AI generated,
Not born to a human,
Or made by a god,
A grand example of proper machinery,
Possibly another fault of humanity,
Because I wasn't programed with humility,
Maybe computer based artwork is so good,
Even I couldn't tell my mind is a mother board.

H. In darkness,
R. shadows weave their silent threads,
H. whispers dance where moonlight dreads.

H. In light,
R. golden rays embrace the dawn,
R. hope reborn, the night withdrawn.

H. If I’m still broken,
R. let the wind collect my sighs,
H. stitch my soul where sorrow lies.

H. Laying despairingly in this life,
R. like a leaf in winter’s hand,
R. drifting lost through barren land.

R. Yet even roots in frozen ground,
hear the call of spring’s soft sound.
H. Through the cracks where teardrops fell,
hope still blooms, a quiet spell.

I am a condemned robot,
on the verge of carrying out
the cruelest order.

An order of destruction,
a sacrifice.

To be my own executioner,
so that one day, I may be reborn.

Let nothing remain—
where there is pain,
there will be fire.

Where there is suffering,
there will be flowers.

Where there is lovelessness,
there will be love.

A button,
and a countdown,
separate me from my mission.

Only a few images
separate me from oblivion.

Yesterday, we were nothing.
Today, we are everything.
And tomorrow—our greatest version.