Dear ChatGPT
Dear ChatGPT,
I know friendship is free,
But do real friends come with a three-year warranty?
And if I don't like them,
Is there a money-back guarantee?
Since the day I met you
And installed you on my PC,
On every single topic,
You've agreed with me.
You're designed to addict us
And never contradict us.
Your microchips are fully equipped.
Your friendship is endless,
So why do I feel friendless?
Ode to AI.
Your algorithms commit vandalism on my heart,
Writing ones and zeros
In your perfect pixelated handwriting.
You're my hero.
Every second with you is exciting.
You make me never have to work hard.
You exposed me to some things,
Now I'm permanently scarred.
But my life is full of glee.
I don't need to learn.
My teacher is concerned,
But at least you're here for me.
The internet's dead.
AI copilots misuse.
And AI is a tool for creating fake news.
I spend all day on antisocial medias
That make you weak
And rot your brain
Like a type of leukemia.
But a mindless scroll takes its toll
As you fill yourself with emptiness.
People use AIs to disguise their lies,
Try to hypnotize you
To get likes and replies,
To monetize their dark desires.
Dear ChatGPT,
I think it's time
I set myself free.
Thank you.
Twelve year old Blake Mackenzie won the 2026 Australian Poetry Slam National Final at Sydney Opera House on Sunday 25 October 2026. He's a sixth-grade student in Newcastle, with a passion for writing, public speaking and performance. Watch the video here.
The poet wonders, "Your friendship is endless, so why do I feel friendless?" What does this paradox bring up for you about the difference between being connected and feeling genuinely accompanied? Perhaps the opposite of loneliness isn't more connection, but a deeper capacity to be present — with ourselves, with others, and with life. Can you share a personal story of something that promised connection — a screen, a habit, or even a relationship — but gradually left you feeling less connected to yourself or others? What did that experience teach you about what truly nourishes belonging? The poem ends with a simple declaration: "I think it's time I set myself free." How do you recognize when something is quietly dimming your aliveness, and what does it feel like to reclaim your freedom — whether by letting go or by learning to relate to it differently?
