a machine you can live without

you're my friend

so i can forgive you,

but i'm still mad;

the comparison 

you gave wasn't good—

plants feel pain

when you eat them, too;

and some people need

to eat meat due to allergies

or

dietary restrictions—

i understand that eating

meat can harm the environment, too;

but that doesn't mean

ai is okay and you excusing people

using it just because you love

them kind-of angers me—

not only does ai harm the

environment, it is a giant plagarism

machine and i don't want my

work stolen by some talentless 

person who thinks feeding a prompt

through a machine is the same

as actually writing;

for our brains and our creativity

are intelligence the universe gave us—

flex your muscles, use your brain;

there's no excuse to ruin the planet

over some machine you can live without.

something worth remembering

 

hayao miyazaki

said ai "art" was an insult

to life itself,

you using chatgpt to

create in "studio ghibli" style

is not only insulting life

but hayao miyazaki;

and i won't forgive you for

doing it regardless if

we're friends—

because the trees

are also my friends,

so are the crows and the

creeks who have always

sang my name;

you put them in danger

when you use that giant

plagarism machine—

i won't forgive you 

even if you're a friend should

you think ai is good because

something that is easy is not worthy

of being remembered—

everything worth doing is difficult

whether it be writing or art,

use your own brain and create something

worth remembering.

we may never speak again 

i'll admit i don't love you

as much as i did 

yesterday,

every day i care a little less

about you;

i love with my whole heart

so we probably won't 

reach a day where i don't care

because twenty years 

is a long time spent building 

a friendship—

but i'm sad that the sisterhood

was a farce, just another

fable i never should've believed

in;

the owl was the one 

i couldn't trust—

should you want a pen pal

you can have one,

but it won't be me;

after twenty years of friendship

i am insulted by your demand

of letters only—

we may never speak again,

but if you want to;

you'll find me buried beneath the

green and gold of forest trees bathed

in sunlight

or in the songs of crows,

maybe even in the whisper of the

wind or the laughter of the 

creek;

but you won't find me where you left me.