Bots

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@elizabethhelmichElizabeth Helmich

a nonsense tale

When I began my trek on Medium
My intentions were pure, and innocent,
Had given up my old, needy blog — 
All the fanfare that went with it

My dear friend had encouraged me,
Gently nudging for many months,
Finally I took the headfirst plunge,
Recollecting confidence in old, dusty thoughts

Several trepidatious weeks passed,
My words become looser, more free,
All was going quite swimmingly
When my kind, gifted friend revisited me

We talked about stats, stories, and such,
Then she mentioned a thing called bots — 
Saying not to get too excited about numbers
Since many of those were mere pixelated dots!

Huh, wha?! I believe was my eloquent response,
Better than whatcha talkin’ ‘bout Willis?
The code was not computing in my brain,
As to why time would be wasted on this?

Fake people, on Medium?! It took me a while,
But my sluggish cells started to get it,
Sorta, kinda, not really, since
What’s the actual point in faking hits?

This isn’t a Field of Wordly Dreams,
Though I’d like to think they’ll come
If we build up enough quality, less fluff — 
Offer full entrees, sweep off the crumbs

I’ve read some of your thoughts
On the whys of these random algorithms,
It makes less and less sense to me,
Sounds like some jacked-up symbolism

If fakes are fabricated, will the real ones stand up, please?
Do flesh & bony readers still exist?
Do we write out our little hearts to the ether,
Blowing rhymes off to disappear in the mist?

I can not waste my precious time
Trying, failing to wrap my head around,
So I’ve decided instead to embrace
Each not-a-human that’s stumbled, and found

My words, who’s to say AI has no taste?
Maybe they love flowery, linguistic jargon,
After sorting dreary, grey codes all day
Perhaps poetry is a binary bargain

I’ll take their circuitous number boost!
Even if it’s all just for the paid show,
Hoping blood-pumping humans may find
My words rich enough for escrow

In the meantime, I’ll be on my mountain
Peelin’ apples, whistlin’ under a tree,
Enjoying what the real world has to offer — 
I’ll write all about it tomorrow, you’ll see

This poem is based on real life conversations, with my darling Tre. (If you don’t know her, you should!) God bless this woman for the amount of patience she has to deal with my slow self. :)

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