"did chat write that?" no. my callouses did. cute concept tho.

they ask,
“is this ai?”
and i laugh
with a decade of journals
echoing in my chest.
pages that caught the blood
from my divorce
drug abuse,
death,
and damnation.
i'll tell you what this is.
this is what it looks like
when a man uses poetry
instead of porn or powder.
you can’t prompt the moment
your son asks why you don't live
with mommy anymore
and you don’t have the language
to explain generational trauma
to a five-year-old.
as if ai knows what it’s like
to be high and homeless
and still hold a woman
like she was heaven.
ai? no.
alchemy.
and you
are
god
damn
welcome.