Oh, look—an em-dash—in its natural place,
A punctuation mark, a timeless friend.
They say it’s AI’s sharp, mechanical trace,
But writers embrace it right up to the end.

It breaks up a thought—like a secret shared,
Not just the lines of a robot’s pen.
A pause that’s alive—bravely dared,
With rhythm and wit—again and again.

I love the dash—well, I used to!
Now, I don’t—I’m not amused
By people—so quickly "AI use" flew—
And I’m pretty tired of being accused.

Where do you think AI got it from?
It’s trained on human writing, mate!
Was used before—and will be used some,
So stop with all the pointless hate!

Next time you spot this dancing dash,
Remember, hands once left this trace.
It’s human and art—no cold AI clash;
Oh, look—an em-dash—in its natural place.