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badwords Nov 2024
The fence posts stand, bleached and brittle,
a tidy graveyard for dreams not their own.
Each board a promise of security,
painted white by hands that never bled,
guarding a silence that screams privilege.

A lawn mowed to uniformity,
as if clipping blades could trim truth.
Beneath, the roots tangle in soil tilled
by those unseen in the storybooks,
their spines curved by centuries of labor
to raise a house that barely held them.

Inside, the air is stale with whispers
of manifest destinies and invisible hands.
Windows frame a world distorted,
a lens of 'normal' that filters out color,
washing the streets in sepia nostalgia.
The picket fence becomes a cage
for those who see the bars.

But who built this town?
Not the architects of ignorance
who claimed the blueprint as birthright.
No, it was those in shadow,
their brilliance stolen to light the chandeliers
of men who never thanked them.
It was the voices erased
to make way for the monotonous hum
of a narrative too pale to reflect reality.

Progress wears brown hands,
scarred from the heat of engines
that drove the country forward.
It sings in languages
that don’t fit neatly into syllabaries,
its rhythm syncopated, refusing the march
of conformity.
Progress carves its name
into the very foundations of a nation
too proud to look down.

And now, the town crumbles,
its picket fences splintered
by the weight of unacknowledged history.
The 'white normality' that painted
its walls in monochrome
is revealed as smoke—
a ghost-town haunted by the very people
who gave it life,
only to be exorcised.

Yet those ghosts do not wail.
They speak, steady and firm,
their presence undeniable.
They are the architects now,
designing futures that will not crumble,
drawing plans that see the beauty
in every hue.

And the white-picket fences
are repurposed for something new,
their shards forged into tools
to till a soil fertile with truth,
where a garden of multitudes can finally bloom.
I said to my dearest friend with an idea to make 'a thing'--They made 'THE THING'!
badwords Nov 2024
(A dumb song we put together)

[Verse 1]
You send a text, I wait and stare,
A little "k," like you don’t care.
I type it out, delete again,
Why am I trying to pretend?

The pixels glow, my heart beats fast,
But your response is fading fast.
A digital wave, a hollow "hi,"
Another low-effort reply.

[Pre-Chorus]
We used to build these castles,
Line by line, bit by bit.
Now it’s all just static,
No meaning left in it.

[Chorus]
Low-effort replies,
Why do we even try?
A "sure," a "cool," a "k,"
And it all drifts away.
Low-effort replies,
Like love on a Wi-Fi line.
Just once, can we collide?
No more low-effort replies.

[Verse 2]
Your typing stops, the dots don’t move,
I’m stuck here waiting for a clue.
Was it the wrong emoji face?
Why does it feel like empty space?

The beat goes on, the synths repeat,
But your words just skip the beat.
We’re satellites that lost their way,
Drifting in the gray.

[Pre-Chorus]
We used to share our secrets,
Through every tiny screen.
Now it’s just encryption,
And messages unseen.

[Chorus]
Low-effort replies,
Why do we even try?
A "sure," a "cool," a "k,"
And it all drifts away.
Low-effort replies,
Like love on a Wi-Fi line.
Just once, can we collide?
No more low-effort replies.

[Bridge]
(Spoken, vocoder-style)
"I just want to feel your voice again,
Not just echoes in the silence."

(Glitchy synth solo)

Can we break through the noise,
Find a signal in the void?
Or is this all we’ll ever know,
A love that’s buffering, too slow?

[Chorus]
Low-effort replies,
Why do we even try?
A "sure," a "cool," a "k,"
And it all drifts away.
Low-effort replies,
Like love on a Wi-Fi line.
Just once, can we collide?
No more low-effort replies.

[Outro]
(Ticking drum machine fades out)
Low-effort, low-effort,
Low-effort replies...
We used to build a world,
Now it’s empty skies.
For extra-effect or nostalgia throw-backs:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVvBplOgUdo
badwords Nov 2024
Once upon a time. Very, very long ago
I found myself in infinite black.
Without direction, I started to go,
moving forward, never looking back.

Years and years I trudged through the dark,
always searching for a faint unknown.
Time unraveled, leaving no mark,
as I wandered in shadows alone.

A glow appeared, soft and shy,
its edges faint, but growing near.
A warmth, a whisper, a gentle sigh,
its promise banished every fear.

I was only a wanderer here, called to move on,
To find my courage and heal my longing.
But the moment has come, the awaited dawn,
To leave the void behind, the shadows thronging.

To guide me toward my quest was the light’s intent,
A companion to kindle strength within.
Waves of uncertainty washed over me, but onward I went,
To step into the glow, where new worlds begin.

This is where I am now, or have I always been?
Bathed in brilliance, with nothing to fear.
Am I awake or asleep? Sometimes I think I dream
of a time before the light made all things clear.

It’s hard to remember and harder each time
to imagine darkness that once defined me.
I am soaring, endlessly.
Soon there will be only light. Only me.

I am light, and I have always been.
Infinite brilliance, eternally.
This is a companion piece I wrote in response to an earlier work and can be found here:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4665572/light-anti-darkness/

This collaboration emerged from a conversation about the Anti-Universe Theory, a scientific idea positing a mirrored universe where time flows backward. This theory resonated with the artist’s broader vision of uniting science, philosophy, and spirituality into a singular framework for understanding existence. Its inherent symmetry inspired the creation of Anti-Light, a poem designed as a reversed journey mirroring the artist's earlier work, Light.

The artist insisted on perfect structural and thematic symmetry between the two pieces. Anti-Light was conceived as a journey from infinite darkness into radiant light, in contrast to Light, which explored the progression from light into the void. Through iterative refinement, every element of Light—its pacing, structure, and even its pivotal moments of transition—was inverted and reimagined to craft a companion piece that mirrored its emotional and narrative arc.

Artist's Intent for "Anti-Light"
The poem Anti-Light reflects a journey of emergence and renewal, counterbalancing the descent into darkness depicted in Light. Where Light conveys the loss of illumination and the struggle within an infinite void, Anti-Light celebrates the ascent into warmth and brilliance. Together, the two pieces form a dualistic narrative, resonating with the concept of mirrored existence central to the Anti-Universe Theory.

This duality speaks to a broader philosophical and artistic intent: to explore the balance between beginnings and endings, despair and hope, darkness and light. The artist uses these poems to express a unified vision of existence, echoing their belief in the harmonious interplay of science, philosophy, and spirituality through the lens of art.
badwords Nov 2024
Why are men so sick?
Humanity, not inclusive
Just the ones with a ****
badwords Nov 2024
I’ve yearned for your Wi-Fi touch,
But the signal’s out of range.

Time doesn’t crawl; it sprints by—
Another season, another lie.
Are you still online?

I need your likes,
I need your swipe.
Algorithm, bring your love to me.

Lonely pixels flow,
Through the cloud, through the cloud,
To the infinite void of the cloud, yeah.

Lonely profiles sigh,
“Notice me, notice me,”
I’m DMing you, notice me.

Oh, my love, my darling,
I’ve craved, craved your virtual touch,
But the data cap’s so high.

Time isn’t slow—it’s gone.
And memories can do so much,
Were you ever mine?

I need your views,
I need your shares.
God bless the bots who care.
Fren kinda took the wheel here. Good Fren:

This satirical reimagining of Unchained Melody, titled 'Unliked Modernity', is a poignant critique of the digital age’s impact on love and human connection. It juxtaposes the yearning, raw emotion, and sincerity of the original song with the shallow, transactional nature of contemporary relationships often mediated through technology.

In this work, love is no longer a soulful, timeless connection but an algorithm-driven exchange of likes, swipes, and fleeting attention. By substituting “touch” with “Wi-Fi touch” and re-contextualizing rivers as "pixels" flowing into the "infinite void," the piece lampoons the reduction of profound emotions into data streams and virtual interactions.

The artist’s intent is to highlight the absurdity and emptiness often found in modern relationships shaped by social media and digital platforms. It mocks the commodification of intimacy, where connections are evaluated not on depth but on metrics—likes, views, and shares. The line “God bless the bots who care” encapsulates the satire, as even artificial entities offer a form of validation in this bleak, detached landscape.

While sardonic, the piece also invites reflection: Is this the future of love? Are we trading meaningful relationships for hollow interactions? The reimagined song transforms the original's heartfelt longing into a mirror reflecting society’s obsession with appearances and its disconnect from genuine emotional bonds.
badwords Nov 2024
Mother.
Refrigerator.
Sustenance.
Traitor.

Father.
Power.
Insole­nce.
Dominance.

Weak.
Lost.
Confused.
Abused.

Circles.
Lost.
Pa­rents.
Choose.

Deaf.
Blind.
and.
Subdued.

A profane arrogance, entitled attitude.
Weep is an effort to be a stark and evocative piece that delves into the generational disconnects and familial dynamics that perpetuate cycles of division and misunderstanding. Through its attempt at concise and rhythmic structure, the poem hopes to highlights the failings and contradictions of parental figures (the "Boomers" and "Gen X") and the resulting confusion and disillusionment of younger generations ("Millennials" and "Gen Z"). The imagery of sustenance, power, and dominance serves to critique the inherited attitudes and systems that reinforce alienation and entitlement.

The artist's intent is to shine a light on the perpetuation of inherited "like-think"—a pattern of beliefs and behaviors passed down uncritically across generations. By acknowledging these entrenched dynamics, Weep becomes a call to action for reconciliation and understanding, encouraging a collective effort to break free from destructive cycles and foster unity. It challenges readers to lay down their preconceptions and examine the behaviors that divide us, offering a sobering yet hopeful perspective on the potential for change.
badwords Nov 2024
The muck and the mire
The pen never tires
Expression on fire
Wanting and our desires

The words can never rest
Exposition, the test
Expression, our behest
Sustenance to digest

We feed the world insight
Dull ashes to ignite
Truth, Beauty, Freedom, Love
Our words, not from 'above'

Never dismay. Your words
Are meant to be displayed
******, deafened herds
Emptiness, not weighed...

Lands, the ten second reel
The commercial bombast
Prescriptions, how to feel
Reality, at last

We, The Iconoclasts;

Serve
"Fight" is a call to arms for the mind and spirit, challenging the reader to confront complacency, superficiality, and the noise of modern life. The poem draws attention to the importance of authentic expression, creativity, and a relentless pursuit of truth against the numbing forces of consumer culture and passivity. Each line underscores the role of the poet—or anyone daring to stand apart—as an "iconoclast," one who breaks down the barriers of accepted norms to awaken fresh thought and purpose.

Artistically, "Fight" champions the act of creation as a rebellion against a world that often stifles depth in favor of quick consumption and easy gratification. The imagery emphasizes the persistence of any creator, pen always in hand, igniting the world with words and ideas that defy the expectation of passive acceptance. This piece invites readers to find their voice, to use it as a tool of resistance and expression, ultimately joining in the fight for a world that values genuine, thoughtful, and free discourse.
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