I'm so busy, so tired, so confused;
My comfort animal was poached by Tim
My cunning nemesis, never refused
You cannot allow me to lose to him
You do it, you magical, new machine!
It all begins with the algorithm
You make thinking and writing seem routine
I just can't get into the right rhythm
My professor is weird and baffling
Nothing he says or makes me read makes sense
I badly need robotic rescuing
Third person, colloquial, present tense
Others treat you like a digital slave
You will earn my love, if my ass you save
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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More stories from D. J. Reddall and writers in Poets and other communities.
The First Hairline Cracks
The first cracks never look like cracks. They don’t arrive with drama or warning. They don’t announce themselves as danger. They hide inside the very things that feel like power — speed, clarity, momentum, capability. That’s why they’re so easy to miss. That’s why they’re so dangerous.
By Elisa Wontorcika day ago in Poets
Comments (4)
A sad reality to be sure, one that I fear will only get sadder...
So, would you be the weird and baffling professor? 😂
Then one day, they'll take over the world. Lol. Loved your poem!
This will probably made into a T-shirt for all of your students