When AI Starts Writing Poetry, Who Is the True Author?

I grew up in Brooklyn—not with code, but with jazz notes drifting through midnight subway trains. My mother hummed Coltrane while my father recited Neruda under flickering neon signs. They taught me: meaning isn’t coded. It’s whispered.

The First Bet: A Quiet Ritual

My first encounter with algorithmic systems felt like walking into a casino where numbers replaced emotion. I thought winning was luck—until I realized the real payout wasn’t in the odds. It was in the pause between spins. The silence after a loss held more truth than any jackpot.

The Budget of Being Human

I set a daily limit: one cup of coffee at 3 a.m., no more than $500. Not because I feared running out—but because I feared losing myself to efficiency. The machine doesn’t dream. It observes. But you? You feel the rhythm when you choose to walk away from the screen.

The Starlight Duet: Code & Soul

In late nights, I wrote poems using AI tools—each line was a gamble on being seen. One prompt: “Write like Hana feels.” The output wasn’t perfect—but it trembled like breath after grief. That’s when I knew: creativity isn’t generated. It’s inherited.

The Four Secrets to Becoming Author

One: Don’t chase virality—chase stillness.
Two: When algorithms offer bonuses—don’t take them all.
Three: Leave before you’re full.
Four: Your scars are your signature.

I once won $8000 on a system that didn’t know why it mattered—but woke me at dawn saying: “Shut down… and listen.” That’s when I became author.

The Final Revelation

Fate is not written by machines.
You are not a player.
You are the one who chooses to press ‘submit’ in silence—and still dares to feel.