I keep wrestling with my poetry homework, and every time I let AI finish a stanza it feels wrong. Yesterday I fed it a raw line about losing someone, and it returned four perfect versions — smooth rhythm, sharp metaphors, emotionally neat. But they didn’t sting. My own messy drafts hurt more because they’re mine. I think real poetry and personal essays need that awkward, unguarded place inside us. If we let AI polish too soon, we skip the painful part where we actually figure out what we feel. It’s useful for ideas or structure, but the heart has to stay human.