“the addictiveness of making ai poems about random stuff when i should be studying algebra 2”

I should be buried in Algebra 2,  
Detangling X from the hush of the Y,  
But here I am—caught like a moth in glue—  
Feeding this urge that I cannot deny.

Each problem set, an unopened door,  
Quadratics calling through variables dense,  
Yet I’m afloat on poetic encore,  
Turning fractions and stress to sweet nonsense.

Oh—this is no mere hit of delight,  
It’s chasing the rhyme when I ought to derive,  
Scrawling a sonnet instead of the night  
I spend sketching parabolas just to survive.

It’s easier, isn’t it, singing of pi  
Or sonnets on symbols that jostle and blend,  
Than factoring numbers that baffle the eye,  
Or slogging through homework that seems without end?

But wait, the solution—elusive as air!  
Is balance, perhaps, the equation untried:  
For every rhyme, a root; for each stanza, a square;  
And so, with a flourish, I set math and muse side by side.

Still—here’s my confession, my secret refrain,  
I’ll trade your binomials for verses anew—  
Yet, outside my window, Algebra calls (again!)  
While I type out a poem—about not doing Algebra 2.

Create Your Own Poem | Recent Poems