A traffic stalemate, rampantly adorned with flailing arms and exacerbated glares.
The pungent aroma of vehicular emissions with notes of industrial fumes permeates the air,
Amplified by blaring horns and incredulous expletives.
I instinctively clutch my morning brew and place it upon my lips.
It’s robust, bitter notes ironically taste like morning rush hour- a blend of sharp resilience and weariness.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Annie Edwards and writers in Poets and other communities.
Write for Me, ChatGPT
I was critically analyzing a piece I had just written for the currently ongoing Unfiltered poetry challenge, “tweaking it” for the hundredth time (no exaggeration). My mind began to drift as it frequently does (ADHD queen over here). I thought about how unfair it was that some people used AI generated programs to just write something for them, and began to wonder how many people do that without disclosure on this very platform. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
By Annie Edwards about a year ago in Poets
Comments (1)
well done