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231 · Jan 2023
The BIG Fish
badwords Jan 2023
Everyday I cast my line
No expectations, killing time
It's what I do under my big Oak tree
No interruptions just nature and me

Same ole pond, different day
I get a bite in a furious way!
Rod creeks, line spools!
"I'm equipped with amateur's tools!"

The rod is bending, it might break
"How much more of this can I take?!"
Muscles burning
Every inch, an earning

Almost there; the rod gives crash!
With a net & knife; in I splash!
This behemoth of no renown
Lurking just outside my home!

A war is fought: Man against Fish
One of us is walking out of here--the other; a dish
The sun was low in the sky
When I dragged my prize to land dry

It was the talk of the town for years
So many free beers
But, time aches on
Not oft now do I hear that song
Of, me & "The Big One"

Time sometimes moves slow, then all of a sudden; fast!
Too often I spend on things past
I miss that big, fishy *******
I wish he could have gotten in the last word
I miss our day of fun
230 · Dec 2024
Luck
badwords Dec 2024
A rigged game for losers
Who like to win
I enjoyed the conciseness of the previous write. reflecting upon it again today, it read like a lyric. I decided to try to write a song out of a collection of short poems one verse at a time.

Previous: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4925923/consequence/

Don't worry, I still hate haikus!
badwords Nov 2024
When Donald Trump does a push-up, he pushes the earth away.
He counted to infinity, TWICE, all in one day!
The Boogeyman checks his closet for Trump each night,
For under his  ̶t̶o̶u̶p̶e̶e̶ ̶ TOTALLY LEGIT HAIR™  is another fist, ready to fight.

When he enters a room, darkness runs out in fear,
He can slam a revolving door, make silence appear.
He doesn’t sleep, he waits—he doesn’t blink, he stares,
And gravity bows when he takes the stairs.

When Donald Trump looks in the mirror, it shatters from awe,
He has no age; time itself is held by his law.
He’s the reason Waldo is always well-hidden,
In Trump’s world, rules are forbidden.

His tears cure cancer—too bad he never cries,
And every hand he’s dealt is aces in disguise.
Death once knocked on his door, then quickly fled—
For even the Grim Reaper fears Donald Trump instead.
#donaldtrump #maga #onlyalphamales #luxuriouslocksofgoldenhair #fruitsnamedafterpeople

https://ibb.co/h83xZxg
badwords Feb 11
Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset
Swiftly go the days
Sunrise, sunset, you wake up then you undress
It always is the same
The Sun rise and the Sun sets
You're lying while you confess
Keep trying to explain
The Sun rise and the Sun sets
You realize, then you forget
What you've been trying to retain

But everybody knows it's all about the things
That get stuck inside of your head
Like the songs your roommate sings
Or a vision of her body as she stretches out on your bed

You raise her hands in the air
Ask her "When was the last time you looked in the mirror?
'Cause you've changed
Yeah, you've changed"

Sun rise, the Sun sets
You're hopeful, then you regret
The circle never breaks

With a sunrise and sunset
There's a change of heart or address
Is there nothing that remains?

For a sunrise or a sunset
You're manic or you're depressed
Will you ever feel ok?

For a sunrise or a sunset
Your lover is an actress
Did you really think she'd stay?

For a sunrise or a sunset
You're either coming or you just left
But you're always on the way

Towards a sunrise or a sunset
A scribble or a sonnet
They are really just the same

To the sunrise or the sunset
The master and his servant
Have exactly the same fate

It's a sunrise and a sunset
From a cradle to a casket
There is no way to escape

The sunrise or the sunset
Hold your sadness like a puppet
Keep putting on the play

But everything you do is leading to the point
Where you just won't know what to do
And the moment that you're laughing
There is someone there who will be laughing louder than you
So it's true, the trick is complete
You've become everything you said you never would be
You're a fool, you're a fool

Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset
Sunrise and the Sun sets
Sunrise, sunset, the sunrise, the sun sets
Sun rise, the Sun sets
Sunrise, sunset, go home to your apartment
Put the cassette in the tape deck
And let that fever play
Sunrise, sunset, where are you, Arienette?
Where are you, Arienette?
Sunrise, Sunset. by Bright Eyes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1aSXYNt8udc

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/
227 · Apr 5
Soft Underbelly
badwords Apr 5
I went out for a smoke —
designated zone, past the edge of the lot,
where sin is sanctioned, but not quite embraced.
And she followed.
Padding silent and striped,
crying between cracked pavement and weeds,
a chorus only I could seem to hear.

I spoke her tongue in broken clicks,
offered the stage of my lap like a velvet throne.
She took it.
Grime on her fur, weather etched in the knots.
Not pet-store plush. Not Stoney.
She wore the street like a second skin
and let me stroke the truth of it.

A man wandered past —
she fled.
Cried her practiced cry.
I watched her pivot:
a charlatan with claws retracted,
an actor with a one-line script:
"Feed me. Touch me. Prove you see me."

And I saw myself,
another feral thing with a soft underbelly,
crying just right
at just the right time
hoping someone might pay the toll
to feel needed.

Then, the punchline —
I'd left my key inside the room.
Three visits to the boy at the desk,
each more tragic than the last:
"Cat food?"
"Disposable bowl?"
"Locked out — again."

And what if this is the game?
What if survival is simply knowing
when to purr and when to bolt?
What if this is the love I know how to earn —
transient, scrappy,
earned in cigarettes and silence,
lost between door frames and secondhand smoke?

She cried again in the distance.
I didn’t follow.
Tonight I let the trap remain unsprung.
226 · Nov 2024
Anti-Light (Darkness)
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.
225 · Jun 18
Recyclable
badwords Jun 18
I found an empty bottle
It’s better than
The empty cans before
It holds the same
But reaches taller
To receive
My ash
A poem about recognizing patterns of behavior in yourself and healing and growth and acceptance and accountability.
224 · Sep 2024
A Phoenix in Doubt
badwords Sep 2024
Driving light, welcome splendor,
Eternal fight, radiant tender—
Gavel of shadow, a dark fist,
Ignorant hope, dismissed.

Youth, ephemeral fire,
Distractions, desire,
Carrot, stick; baited,
'Destiny'; we waited.

Ash, born anew,
Tired stories askew,
Knowledge ignored,
'Self' sold in stores.

In doubt, I find a shifting ground,
Where voices crack, but truth is found.

I stand between the joy and sorrow,
A witness to a strange tomorrow.
The self I knew fades into air,
What I become, I'm not yet aware.
A work collaborated with both a mentor and fellow pupil.
223 · May 12
Raw Dog
badwords May 12
A long endless road
Reaching out to desolation
Mile markers stand
Martyrdom, tribulation

Foot after foot
Miles or kilometers
A heart of soot
It doesn’t matter

Grevious each step
Calculated disaster
Lonely tears wept
The big there after

And I see
The invisible things
We are ‘we’
Dents, bruises and dings

And I know
The language we speak
And I show
The birthright of the meek

It is all upside down
We color outside the lines
World will bring us down
We dance out of time

A moment to find
An ancillary rhyme
In limerick skew
We do what we must do
To take ownership of our time
badwords Jan 14
Have you got colour in your cheeks?
Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type
That sticks around like summat in your teeth?
Are there some aces up your sleeve?
Have you no idea that you're in deep?
I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week
How many secrets can you keep?
'Cause there's this tune I found
That makes me think of you somehow an' I play it on repeat
Until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee

(Do I wanna know?) If this feelin' flows both ways?
(Sad to see you go) Was sorta hopin' that you'd stay
(Baby, we both know) That the nights were mainly made
For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

Crawlin' back to you
Ever thought of callin' when
You've had a few?
'Cause I always do
Maybe I'm too
Busy bein' yours
To fall for somebody new
Now, I've thought it through
Crawlin' back to you

So have you got the guts?
Been wonderin' if your heart's still open
And if so, I wanna know what time it shuts
Simmer down an' pucker up, I'm sorry to interrupt
It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of tryin' to kiss you
But I don't know if you feel the same as I do
But we could be together if you wanted to

(Do I wanna know?) If this feelin' flows both ways?
(Sad to see you go) Was sorta hopin' that you'd stay
(Baby, we both know) That the nights were mainly made
For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

Crawlin' back to you (Crawlin' back to you)
Ever thought of callin' when
You've had a few? (Had a few)
'Cause I always do ('Cause I always do)
Maybe I'm too (Maybe I'm too busy)
Busy bein' yours (Bein' yours)
To fall for somebody new
Now, I've thought it through
Crawlin' back to you

(Do I wanna know?) If this feelin' flows both ways?
(Sad to see you go) Was sorta hopin' that you'd stay
(Baby, we both know) That the nights were mainly made
For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day
(Do I wanna know?) Too busy bein' yours to fall
(Sad to see you go) Ever thought of callin', darlin'?
(Do I wanna know?) Do you want me crawlin' back to you?
Crawling Back to You by Arctic Monkeys

https://youtu.be/bpOSxM0rNPM

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/
badwords Feb 17
He knew he wasn't perfect
But he always did his best to get under the surface
Not a saint, not a serpent
He just wanted everyone to be impressed with him as a person
So when she came along with the sunbeam
Self-esteem stopped making nothing outta somethings
Leaving the scene was unseen, I mean
It was the first time he ever felt the need to keep the gun clean

Do the math
He knew he had to choose a path
Gotta get that girl, gotta make her laugh
Gotta shake the past and move forwards
Gotta make this last, it feels gorgeous
But she had a lover in the mid-west
Never figured out how to get him off her thick chest
Just like that everything is gone
He didn't wanna but he had to learn the words so he could sing along

Everything is all I have to give you
And I'm afraid it ain't enough
And you're not so young that you believe me
Just because I say it's love
And even if they come to steal you tomorrow
I'll know my smile was yours
Go ahead and chase your dreams and your freedom
Run, run wild wild horses

You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses, no
You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses

Sometimes it can be so nice, right?
Sometimes she feel herself turn into the wife-type
And when it's dark, sometimes is the nightlife
But most of the time she doesn't even feel lifelike
She got a man but he thinks he's a star
And it feels like she has to compete with the bar
She keeps up her guard but it seems so hard
Momma never told her she would see those scars

Every night he's out doin' who knows whom
While she cries along like a new show tune
Last call past, is he comin' home soon?
Or is he gonna run away with the dish and the spoon?
She'll realize she don't want that clown
Leave those shoes at the lost and found
He wont catch on until she's not around
After somebody else already locked that down

We sing...
Everything is all I have to give you
And I'm afraid it ain't enough
And you're not so young that you believe me
Just because I say 'it's love'
And even if they come to steal you tomorrow
I'll know my smile was yours
Go ahead and chase your dreams and your freedom
Run, run wild wild horses

You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses, no
You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses

He didn't want her to see him leave
And he couldn't keep sittin' there watchin' her sleep
Cause he knows if he hangs out for a few hours
He'll dig another hole tryin' to plant some new flowers
But the sun don't shine under the table
He's tryin' to hold his life together with staples
No investment cause he's incapable
And he's on the outro of being labeled available

The word on the street is his girls comin' back home
No more alone, no more sad poems
No after-bar calls to the cell phone
Its time to walk a new path and grow a backbone

Shoved into the big book of just friends
Wondering how he would look as a husband
And everyone of 'em he ever allowed to love him
Now watching from the crowd tryin' to be proud of him

They say...
Everything is all I have to give you
And I'm afraid it ain't enough
And you're not so young that you believe me
Just because I say it's love
And even if they come to steal you tomorrow
I'll know my smile was yours
Go ahead and chase your dreams and your freedom
Run, run wild wild horses

You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses, no
You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses
Wild Wild Horses by Atmosphere

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXa0HxMzRHE

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/

You can't tame these horses
220 · Feb 18
A Kingdom of Suns
badwords Feb 18
They never strike the blade from your hand.
They never meet you where the blood pools.
They only grant you light, gilded and empty,
a gift too bright to argue with.

A kingdom of suns,
where silence is spun into gold,
where thrones need no defense—
only a gesture, a coin, a radiant nod.

What is the cost of a word?
Too high, it seems, when silence is cheaper.
Too high, when a favor is weight enough
to press down on the voice that dared.

Not all power is steel.
Some is mercy so thick it suffocates,
a kindness that quiets the inconvenient,
a hand so gentle it becomes a shroud.

And so, the poet is honored,
draped in warmth,
wrapped in reverence,
buried alive.
You can keep your sun

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4985305/good-poets-are-cult-leaders/

A Kingdom of Suns is a contemplative and subtly critical poem that explores the dynamics of power, silence, and the ways in which authority dismisses dissent without direct confrontation. The poem delves into the notion of praise as erasure—how symbolic gestures of approval can sometimes serve as a tool to neutralize critique rather than engage with it.

The poem’s central metaphor, a "kingdom of suns," represents a realm where discourse is not met with counterarguments, but instead with golden, untouchable acknowledgment. This suggests a form of power that is less about outright suppression and more about strategic indifference—a recognition so grand that it becomes a dismissal in itself.

The piece questions the cost of words in spaces where silence is more convenient, highlighting how a well-placed favor, rather than an argument, can be enough to quiet a challenge. The poet’s intent is not to attack any single individual but to explore a larger pattern in artistic and intellectual discourse, where perceived generosity can sometimes function as a passive form of control.

Through restrained yet piercing language, A Kingdom of Suns challenges the reader to consider:

When is approval a genuine act of support, and when is it a tool of disengagement?
How does power respond to critique—not with resistance, but with a smile too radiant to oppose?
What happens when the most effective way to dismiss a voice is to praise it into silence?
This work stands as an exploration of authority, artistic validation, and the subtleties of rhetorical power, asking whether true engagement can exist in spaces where gestures replace dialogue
220 · Apr 16
Free Milk
badwords Apr 16
You read my poem,
sighed like a widowed cello,
told me I was
so brave.
So sensitive.
So real.

I said thanks.
You asked if I was free
Friday.

You wanted to know the man
behind the wound.
The author of ache.
The architect of vibes.

So I showed up.

A little unwashed.
A little twitchy.
A patchwork of trauma
in ill-fitting pants.

You blinked.
Twice.

Like I’d just tracked in mud
on the white carpet
of your curated suffering.

You wanted a candlelit meal
with my metaphors.
But I brought the cow.
It shat on the floor.

I tried to explain—
the sadness isn’t a costume.
The pain isn’t prose.
The blood on the page
was mine.

You said,
“I just thought you'd be more… together?”
I said,
“I thought you knew what empathy meant.”

Turns out,
what you really wanted
was artisanal anguish
with the trauma locally sourced
but ethically removed.

You can cry to the soundtrack—
just don’t ask where the violins came from.

Because—

Nobody is amused with a stray cow.
But most people enjoy
a good hamburger.
A bit of cheeky fun and levity.
219 · Oct 2024
Crying Wolf
badwords Oct 2024
The lonely wolf cries
Clouds, Moon's Disguise
A hallowed howl
Atmospheric cowl

A lupine loneliness
Lunar moots amiss
Un-conjoined, the pair
Wailing into the air

Blinded but, not deaf
Luna, stymied, bereft
Baying into the night
A kin without her light

The mother of all ages
Whiteness, untold stages
She weeps once more
From her distant shore

Her love; absolute
Yet, from far away
Conviction; resolute
Interruptions of strays

She hears them crying
From her distance
Not for her trying
Occluded assistance

The wolves weep
And the Moon weeps
For what is in-between.
There is more than one way to 'cry wolf'
217 · Dec 2022
Bed
badwords Dec 2022
Bed
"Just go to bed"
The back of my mind is reeling
"It's like being dead"
That unshakable feeling

Rest.
Sleep.
Death.
Keep.

I can't Sleep anymore
I'm too tired
I've said this before
I am mired

I hurts to be awake
So much at stake
A feeling I can't shake
I'm about to break


In the morning I wake


The poison won't let me die
Too much product to commodify
Profit comes from those who live
Anything ese gets the shivv

Does anyone care about anyone anymore?
Or are we sick reflections of what we adore?
Doomed in eternity, forevermore
Pathetic attentions shored
badwords Mar 2
Who, if not I, shall drag this weary art from the grave?
Who, if not I, shall stitch its tattered lungs and bid it breathe?
The rest of them—dullards, clowns, worshippers of hollow verse—
they scribble in their mediocrity, praising each other’s drool
as if genius were a group activity.

But I—oh, I—am the last flicker of divinity left in this sorry world.
A benevolent god, bestowing clarity where there is only fog.
My kindness—a gift—a burden, even!
For what is it to be kind, when one is so vastly beyond
the scrawling masses?

Oh, how exhausting it is to save poetry
while balancing the delicate weight of my own madness.
How tragic, how noble, how unbearably beautiful
to suffer for a world that cannot grasp my suffering.

Yes, yes—I see the whispers in their eyes,
the adoration curled in their reluctant praise.
They know, as I know, as the gods themselves must know,
that without my hand, my vision, my voice—
poetry would collapse into dust, and no one would even notice.

And yet, I persist.
I give, endlessly, despite the torment of being the only one
who truly understands.

Because if not I—who?
Ode to the Last Poet Alive presents itself as both an exaltation and a condemnation—a self-aware, narcissistic manifesto draped in the language of divine suffering. It is a work that simultaneously embraces and ridicules the archetype of the tortured artist, exposing the inherent absurdity of self-mythologization while reveling in it.

The poem’s voice is that of a figure who sees themselves as poetry’s final savior, burdened with genius and afflicted by an intelligence so keen that it isolates rather than elevates. The speaker’s inflated self-perception is not just a symptom of narcissism but also a symptom of existential despair—the knowledge that one’s work may be the last of its kind, unrecognized and underappreciated in a world of mediocrity.

The tone is mock-heroic, borrowing the grandeur of romantic odes and tragic epics while exaggerating their most indulgent tendencies. The structure is one of increasing self-deification, following a progression from reluctant savior to outright godhood, only to return to the fundamental, tragic paradox: the world does not deserve the poet, yet the poet cannot abandon the world.

The choice of phrasing, with lines like "Oh, how exhausting it is to save poetry," carries an affected weariness, a deliberate overperformance of suffering that teeters between genuine artistic anguish and melodramatic self-indulgence. It reads as both an assertion and a confession: to be this brilliant is not a gift but a burden.

A parody of the "misunderstood genius" trope—lampooning the self-importance of poets who believe themselves to be singular forces of artistic salvation.
A genuine reflection on the isolating nature of artistic creation—suggesting that perhaps, even in jest, there is a kernel of truth in the feeling of bearing artistic responsibility in a world that does not care.
The final lines—“Because if not I—who?”—encapsulate the paradox at the heart of the poem. It is both a rhetorical question and an unshakable belief. The speaker is aware of their own ridiculousness, yet cannot fully reject their conviction.

At its core, Ode to the Last Poet Alive is an exercise in narcissistic self-awareness. It asks:

Does the poet suffer because they are truly the last great one, or because they need to believe they are?
Is this grandeur an affectation, or the only way to justify the weight of artistic pursuit?
By embracing its own excess, the poem refuses to give a clean answer. It is both mockery and manifesto, both a jest and a lament, and in that duality, it finds its truest voice.
215 · Jul 2021
Abate
badwords Jul 2021
I wrap my hands
upon my skull
no if or ands
the answer droll
like a tumor
some sick rumor
like a fact
a heart turned black
you're with him again
when will this end?
badwords Dec 2024
Sixteen years of silence carved in black,
A void where shadows linger, thick as tar,
The Cure returned, a specter trailing back,
To sing of lost worlds, and the scars of stars.

Depeche, meanwhile, kept the clock in spin,
Their gears grinding, turning, time’s soft waltz.
Iterative whispers, where noise had been,
Polished mirrors reflecting past assaults.

Smith’s lament, a chasm deep and wide,
Bleeds fresh from wounds that time could never seal.
Their gothic hymns, a requiem to guide
Through mourning’s labyrinth, to truths surreal.

And yet, Depeche embraced the tide of years,
Each album stacked like bricks upon their wall.
A steady march, a symphony of gears,
Chasing echoes through the digital sprawl.

Where Cure's return is death kissed by the light,
Depeche hums neon, humming in the haze—
An endless pulse that stutters through the night,
Reborn, again, in labyrinthine maze.

Two paths: one absent, brooding in the gloom,
The other endless, weaving threads of fate.
The Cure, a ghost revived from timeless tomb,
Depeche, a clock, rewound, yet never late.
214 · Sep 2023
Mausoleum
badwords Sep 2023
Entombed in these scripts
Are countless lists
A chain of 'wants'
Self-inflicted torture daunts

And the mind grows colder
Reiteration. Older, bolder.
Perhaps not wiser
Affection? A miser.

Grey matter glistens, clean
Wrinkle-less, pure.
Elect the means
Analytics astir

You are already dead
Bought, sold and traded
Ukulele is the dread
A modicum so faded

There's a twang of a string
It brings great reckoning
And down below
We observe the show

And know we know;
'How to think"
212 · Aug 2023
Applause
badwords Aug 2023
The Crowd rises
A standing ovation ensues
You've won your "prizes"
Now, payment is due

If you write without loss
Then there is nary a cost
If you write from pain
It all sounds the same

If you write for truth & beauty
If writing is your duty
If the words won't cease
No sleep, no release

When it all comes in too fast
Future hopes, moments past
When words are a blur
And listless, we stir

Racing. Racing. Racing.

Faster, harder, better, more strong
A place where we never belong
In each death, I write a song
Against the cacophony of the throng

Less is more
(More or less)
Allow the future you behest
Worry not for the 'test'
Of creativity in arrest

Write Good Words.
badwords Mar 9
You know what, Stuart, I like you.
You're not like the other people,
Here, in the trailer park.
Oh, don't go get me wrong!
They're fine people,
They're good Americans!
But they're content to sit back,
Maybe Watch a little Mork and Mindy on channel 57,
Maybe kick back a cool, Coors™ 16-ouncer.
They're good, fine people, Stuart.

But they don't know,
What the queers are doing to the soil...

You know that Jonny Wurster kid,
The kid that delivers papers in the neighborhood?
He's a fine kid.
Some of the neighbors say he smokes crack,
But I don't believe it.
Anyway, for his tenth birthday,
All he wanted was a Burrow Owl.
Kept bugging his old man.
"Dad, get me a burrow owl.
I'll never ask for anything else as long as I live."
So the guy breaks down and buys him a burrow owl.

Anyway, 10:30, the other night,
I go out in my yard, and there's the Wurster kid,
Looking up in the trees.
I say, "What are you looking for?"
He says "I'm looking for my burrow owl."
I say, "Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick!
Everybody knows the burrow owl lives. In a hole. In the ground.
Why the hell do you think they call it a burrow owl, anyway?"

Now Stuart, do you think a kid like that is going to know what the queers are doing to the soil?

I first became aware of this about ten years ago,
The summer my oldest boy, Bill Jr. died.
You know that carnival comes into town every year?
Well this year they came through with a ride called The Mixer.
The man said, "Keep your head, and arms, inside The Mixer at all times!"
But Bill Jr, he was a DAREDEVIL!
Just like his old man.
He was leaning out saying "Hey everybody, look at me! Look at me!"

POW!!!

HE WAS DECAPITATED!!!

They found his head over by the snow cone concession...
A few days after that, I open up the mail.
And there's a pamphlet in there. From Pueblo, Colorado,
And it's addressed to Bill, Jr.
And it's entitled;
"Do You Know What the Queers Are Doing to Our Soil?"

Now, Stuart, if you look at the soil around any large US city,
With a big underground homosexual population.
Des Moines, Iowa, For example.
Look at the soil around Des Moines, Stuart.
You can't build on it! You can't grow anything in it!
The government says it's due to poor farming.
But I know what's really going on, Stuart!
I know it's the queers!
They're in it with the aliens!
They're building landing strips for gay Martians,
I swear to God!

You know what, Stuart, I like you.
You're not like the other people, here in this trailer park.
Stuart by The Dead Milkmen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71PNZH1OaW0

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/

"I like you reader, you're not like like the other writers, here in the poetry park..."
badwords Jan 1
So this is the new year
And I don't feel any different
The clanking of crystal
Explosions off in the distance
In the distance
So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
Or self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions
So everybody put your best suit or dress on
Let's make believe that we are wealthy for just this once
Lighting firecrackers off on the front lawn
As thirty dialogues bleed into one
I wish the world was flat like the old days
Then I could travel just by folding a map
No more airplanes, or speed trains, or freeways
There'd be no distance that could hold us back
There'd be no distance that could hold us back
There'd be no distance that could hold us back
So this is the new year
So this is the new year
So this is the new year
So this is the new year
The New Year by Death Cab for Cutie:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSgHGFuPNus

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/

So, this is the new year... *I don't feel any different*

Bit of an update here. I don't expect to be as active here for at least the foreseeable future. I'm moving out of state in a couple of weeks with a lot of the details to still be resolved. Once I get that all sorted out, I hope to have time to get a few of my creative projects off the ground. I look forwards to dropping in from time to time to enjoy all the amazing things you all write.

*There'd be no distance that could hold us back*

Be well,
badwords
207 · Apr 12
Flooded with Silence
badwords Apr 12
They say the world once bore no veins—
no threads of brine,
no weeping mouths carved in earth.
Only silence.
Only dust-throat wind
under a hollow-mouthed sky.

Then came the First Mourner.

Not born, but broken.
A shape made from absence.
Their sorrow split stone.
Their cries taught gravity
how to kneel.

The earth, startled, drank.
And from that swallowed ache
rose a spring—
clear as memory,
bitter as bone.

The sky, until then unburdened,
watched.
And when it wept,
it learned to fall.

This was the covenant:
for every sorrow borne true,
a drop of the world’s marrow returned.
Grief became a currency.
Rain, a reply.

Oceans swelled with inheritance.
Rivers wandered like rumor.
Lakes pooled in the hollows
where love had collapsed.

And for a while,
this was sacred.

But men grew clever with their sorrows.
They fermented anguish for flavor.
Bottled ache and sold it as nectar.
Taught mirrors to mimic mourning
and called it truth.

The sky, still loyal,
poured out its heart.

But it no longer knew
the shape of honest sorrow.

And so, the floods came—
not as retribution,
but confusion.

The fires walked freely—
not from rage,
but because the wells no longer wept.

The clouds grew thin.
The earth forgot the taste
of true lament.

Now, the world shudders
at our pageants of pain.
The rain withholds.
The roots crack.
Even the springs echo hollow.

But not all hearts have calcified.

Some still mourn in secret tongue—
not to be seen,
but to sanctify.

They trace the riverbeds with bare feet.
They mend what mold has claimed.
They do not cry aloud.
They undo.

No thunder blesses them.
No crowds sing their names.
But where they pass,
the drought lingers less.

The sky hovers,
unspeaking,
watching.

They say
there will come a day
when one quiet gesture
will be enough to break the dam.

Until then,
the ones who remember
move like shadows
beneath a sleeping rain.
205 · Nov 2024
'Unliked Modernity'
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.
204 · Jan 2024
What is Love?
badwords Jan 2024
Love? Is senseless abandon.
Love, is bicycles, tandem.
One person, climbing a *****.
The other owns the rope.

Love is compromise.
The unwelcome surprise.
A construct of lies.
For purpose, we try.

Love is commerce.
Watching a hearse.
Everything you lost.
The total of the cost.

Love is blindness.
Brief notions of kindness.
Tragedy, behind us.
An obligatory must.

Love is slavery.
Elected misery.
A contract to not be free.
We submit, voluntarily.

This is the last time.
She walked out that door.
My reasons, mine.
She asks for more.

I wish her well.
The desired hell.
A flippant subscription.
Greener-grass perscription.

An insipid dance rhythm ignites.
Contrasting all our fights.
I turn and I speak,
The words come weak;

"Baby, don't hurt me"
"No more"
And everyone loses their collective ***** all at once!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEXWRTEbj1I
202 · Feb 21
'Empathy'
badwords Feb 21
You say you spilled your guts,
bled for a love that drained you dry—
your wounds are real, raw,
carved in shadows of pain.
You call yourself an empath,
and name your enemy a vampire;
it's clean, it's simple,
a comforting division
of white knights and dark demons,
a story that absolves,
that keeps you safe,
but what if it's just another cage?

No one doubts your hurt—
it breathes in every line,
a trembling hand,
seeking solace in naming the villain.
Yet you draw the battle lines
in shades of absolutes,
as if hearts and scars
could be painted in pure black and white.
Empath versus vampire,
saint versus sinner,
but where, in these crisp edges,
is the fragile truth
that all are wounded,
that all who wound were wounded too?

You speak of healing,
and yet weaponize words
that were meant to mend,
to stitch and soothe,
to rewrite old traumas
into songs of understanding.
Instead, they sharpen,
twisting therapy into blades
that cut only one way,
and you—
the so-called empath—
risk becoming the wielder,
carving villainy from vulnerability.

Have you looked into the mirror,
beyond the mask of innocence?
Have you asked why you clung
to toxic tides,
why self-abandonment
became your chosen dance?
Did you ever wonder
how your wounds
might have wounded too,
that love and pain
can flow in circles,
a symbiosis of mutual hurt,
no vampire, no angel—
just two lost souls
tangled in the dark?

True empathy is not selective,
cannot bloom only
for the ones we deem worthy.
Empathy, fully known,
holds space even for those
whose brokenness
has broken us.
It asks the hardest questions,
dares to understand
even when understanding stings.
It does not absolve blindly,
nor condemn swiftly—
it sees humans, not monsters,
in the shadows we cast.

You say you broke the cycle,
and yet the cycle lives
in words of blame,
of unexamined anger,
of self-righteous tears.
Healing lies not in battle cries
of "empath versus vampire,"
but in the quiet admission
that pain is complex,
that every villain
once called themselves a victim,
that every victim
holds the power
to wound, to misunderstand,
to refuse the mirror's harsh truth.

Step beyond the narrative
of simple heroes and villains.
Let healing rewrite itself,
not as absolution,
but as accountability.
Not as innocence reclaimed,
but as wisdom earned.
Let empathy grow vast,
embracing all that hurts—
yours, theirs, ours—
until labels dissolve,
and the enemy,
once dehumanized,
stands revealed:
not as a vampire,
but a reflection
of our deepest, shared humanity.

For only then,
when we own our part,
when we see ourselves in the other,
can wounds become windows,
and love—
messy, flawed, imperfect—
find room to breathe,
not as war,
but as mutual forgiveness,
one humble step at a time.
An answer to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4985445/the-aftermath-of-narcissist-vs-empath/

'Empathy' is a reflective long-form poem that challenges the simplistic narrative often found in discourse about toxic relationships—particularly those labeling one party as an "empath" and the other as a "vampire" or narcissist. The poem critiques the ease with which individuals absolve themselves of accountability by adopting the empath identity, highlighting the potential harm in using therapeutic language to demonize others. Rather than perpetuating a binary of victim and villain, the poem urges introspection, mutual empathy, and the recognition that true healing requires acknowledging the complexities of human relationships. It calls for a deeper understanding, urging individuals to confront their own roles in painful dynamics, encouraging growth beyond blame.


The artist’s intent behind this counter-poem is rooted in genuine compassion, self-reflection, and the desire for authentic healing. Rather than dismissing the pain experienced by self-identified empaths, the artist aims to deepen the conversation by introducing nuance and balance. They seek to gently challenge readers to examine their own contributions to toxic relationships, inviting a more holistic form of empathy that extends even to those who've caused harm. This work does not minimize suffering but proposes that true recovery and peace are possible only through mutual understanding, accountability, and self-awareness. Ultimately, the artist intends to foster dialogue that moves beyond simplistic blame, transforming personal pain into collective wisdom, and encouraging healing grounded in shared humanity.

___


In contemporary discussions about relationships, trauma, and healing, therapeutic and psychiatric terminology has become commonplace. Words like “empath,” “narcissist,” “trauma bond,” and “gaslighting” have moved from clinical contexts into everyday language, offering powerful tools for understanding and validating personal experiences. However, this widespread adoption of psychiatric vocabulary also brings a significant and often overlooked risk: the potential to weaponize language intended for healing.

This poem and its counterpoint reveal a critical tension in the way therapeutic terms can be used not only to foster self-awareness and growth but also to cast blame, absolve oneself of accountability, or demonize others. In the name of healing, these terms are sometimes wielded to categorize individuals into simplistic binaries—victim versus villain, empath versus vampire—stripping relationships of nuance and reducing complex human interactions to harmful caricatures.

The danger here is subtle yet profound. While therapeutic language can empower individuals to recognize abuse or validate their pain, it can also become a shield against uncomfortable introspection. Labels like “empath” and “energy vampire” risk becoming identity markers that allow individuals to project unresolved personal wounds outward, bypassing genuine reflection on their own roles, responsibilities, and contributions to relationship dynamics.

This phenomenon does not dismiss the real and profound pain experienced by many; rather, it calls for caution and balance in the use of psychiatric language. The intent behind therapeutic terminology is always to heal, not to harm. Recognizing when these terms are weaponized—either consciously or unconsciously—invites a deeper ethical and psychological awareness. It challenges individuals and communities to ensure that the language of healing is used to build understanding and accountability, rather than to deepen divides, perpetuate victimhood, or justify harm under the guise of self-protection.

Ultimately, true healing requires using therapeutic concepts responsibly, fostering empathy that extends to all parties involved, including ourselves. Only then can these powerful tools fulfill their intended purpose: not to wage emotional battles, but to illuminate pathways toward authentic growth, understanding, and reconciliation.

___


It is essential to clearly state that the analysis, poem, and related discussions presented here are in no way intended to shame or blame victims of abuse, trauma, or emotional harm. Pain and suffering experienced by those who have been subjected to harmful relationships or behaviors are valid, real, and deserving of compassion and support.

The purpose of this discussion is not to diminish the significance of any individual's experience or to suggest victims bear responsibility for the hurt inflicted upon them. Rather, the conversation seeks to explore how therapeutic language and concepts—powerful tools for understanding and healing—can sometimes be unintentionally misused or simplified, potentially reinforcing harmful narratives or cycles of blame.

Encouraging accountability or reflection does not mean victims are responsible for their trauma. Instead, it acknowledges that healing is often complex, multi-faceted, and benefits from recognizing the interconnectedness of human relationships. The goal here is deeper understanding, never dismissal. This dialogue aims to support authentic healing journeys that recognize the profound pain of victims while also advocating for empathy, self-awareness, and mutual understanding as essential elements in the path toward recovery and emotional freedom.

In short, the commitment here remains firmly rooted in compassion, empathy, and support for all who suffer.
199 · Mar 31
Stoney (Still Rolls)
badwords Mar 31
(for my floofy derpy boi)*

You were never built for stealth—
a black blur of static and fluff,
three feet tall on hind legs
but softer than garage smoke in summer.

Bugs survived you.
Couches forgave you.
And every room you entered
adjusted to your gravitational field.

They named you S.T.P.—
some lubricant ghost from Arizona asphalt,
but I knew you were more riff than oil,
a slow groove in cat form.
So I called you Stoney.

Because you looked like a soundcheck
and moved like a stoner god,
missing flies with commitment
and knocking over your own shadow
just to watch it fall.

You were the only thing in that house
that didn’t hide.
You lived—floofy and absurd,
like a bassline with fur.

And now you’re somewhere else,
in a room I can’t enter.
Still shedding joy on furniture
I no longer recognize.

But I hope you’re derping with pride,
haunting someone else’s blinds,
letting your purr shake loose
whatever silence they carry.

I still hear you sometimes,
a phantom thunk from shelf to floor.
A tail flick in memory’s corner.
Still Stoney. Still rolling.
198 · Jun 14
The Fold Does Not Forget
badwords Jun 14
They dim, yes—
but only in the grammar
of linear perception.
the eye reports silence
where a rotation begins.

what you name “death”
is the slowing of evidence—
the flicker not extinguished,
but inverted,
drawn backward
into the unspeakable symmetry.

a star is not a sentence.
it is a glyph
in a language
you were not born to mouth.
it folds mid-breath,
becoming itself from the other side.

entropy is not an end.
it is the architecture
of turning.
a deception of stillness
held just long enough
to conceal the pulse
beneath its vanishing.

the fold does not forget.
it remembers beyond time,
beyond light,
in geometries that refuse to die—
in echoes not of sound
but of shape.

what was lost
was not erased
only mirrored
through angles
you’ve not yet been.

eventually...
again.
a reply beyond the stars to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5086157/eventually-the-stars/

This work is becoming a trifecta:

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

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4920164/anti-light-darkness/

The Fold Does Not Forget is a dimensional reply to Michael Sean Maloney’s Eventually the Stars, not in opposition, but in completion. Where Maloney's poem ends in ellipsis—a trailing acknowledgment of fading stars—this piece begins, unfolding what lies beyond the threshold of perception.

The poem asserts that what appears to vanish does not end, but reorients itself through structures we are unequipped to observe linearly. Stars, light, and even the self do not disappear; they fold, invert, and recur along axes uncharted by empirical perception. In this way, the work proposes trans-dimensional recursion as the truer geometry of the universe—one in which entropy and negentropy are interlocking phases of a single, perpetual motion.

The stanzas are architected to reflect a philosophical loop, not a narrative arc. Each movement operates like a limb of the cosmic carousel: moving inward and outward simultaneously, echoing not with sentiment, but with form-bound metaphysics.

This work exists as part of a larger cosmological framework I’ve been developing through companion pieces such as Light (anti-darkness) and Anti-Light (darkness)—a framework informed by the Anti-Universe Theory and the notion that spacetime is not linear but recursive, reflective, and encoded with symmetry that transcends dualism.

The goal here is not to comfort the reader with poetic reassurances of afterlife or return. Rather, it is to suggest—through language as architecture—that what appears to end is only transitioning out of perceptual alignment. The universe does not operate on terminal lines but on folds, loops, and dimensions of reorientation.

In this poem, the fold becomes more than a device—it becomes the fundamental gesture of reality itself. Where the human eye sees silence, the fold remembers. Where language fails to track a trajectory, the fold holds the motion. This is not mysticism, but structure: a topology of becoming.

Stylistically, I maintained minimalistic linework and stanzaic restraint in order to emphasize density of meaning over flourish. Each line operates with intentional pressure—compressed language as gravitational pull. The ellipsis is retained from Maloney’s original but is no longer a gesture of trailing resignation; here, it signifies a turn. A recursive breath. A second beginning, spoken by a throat that curves back into itself.

The Fold Does Not Forget does not argue against fading light. It insists that fading is not a disappearance but a reorientation of form—one that does not beg to be witnessed but exists regardless of perception. It is not hopeful. It is not despairing. It is, simply, truth turning inward.
198 · Jan 2023
Chance
badwords Jan 2023
As a kid I was aquited
For murders I did committed
A juvenile, I sitted
Upon my throne

Loud noises, vanquished activities
Delinquent proclivities
Familiar treacheries
I was on my own

13, young, dumb and full of ***
I was king of it all
The ******* claimed I was 'the one'
How quickly I fall

Frank said to me
"This land is yours as far  as the eye can see"
Dean knew the treachery
Joey smiled, happily

"It's a desert out here"
I decried with care
Not to invite a homicidal affair
A company of ne'er-do-wells

Frank turned and said,
"If you a'int living', you're dead"
Ominous dread
The words stuck in my head

It's been awhile now
Since I've seen the pack
It's amazing how
It all comes back

Life's been good
Even grand
Since that hood
Took the grandstand

Ambitious screams
The paupers line my purse
Pathetic dreams
To escape what's worse

Another dollar, another nickel
Lady Luck is fickle
Pull the arm of our 'friend'
A chance at a happy end
197 · Nov 2024
Remorse
badwords Nov 2024
Killer who cares
Suicide of dreams
Offer blank stares
"Know what it means!"

I have to shout!
When you won't hear
I must walk out
You slay what's dear

You built this place
You burnt it down
Confused, your face
Why I'm not around

You are growing
That is very swell
I am here showing
Your empty well

Slashed and burned
Salted the earth
Joy you have earned
But us? A dearth

Our world's casualty?
I feel this remorse...
If this you too can't see
Words have no course
Synopsis with Artist's intent as requested:

Remorse reflects the painful awareness and acceptance of a fractured relationship's reality, capturing the speaker's disappointment, frustration, and ultimate resolution.

In this piece, the speaker confronts a partner who repeatedly invalidated and failed them, despite opportunities for growth and change. There’s a sense of betrayal woven through lines like, "Killer who cares / Suicide of dreams," illustrating a partner who seems apathetic to the harm they’ve caused. The choice to portray remorse as a double-edged feeling—both directed toward the partner and reflective of the speaker’s own regret—suggests an internal struggle to move past something significant but irreparably damaged.

The line "I have to shout! / When you won't hear" highlights the speaker’s sense of isolation in this dynamic, emphasizing the frustration of unreciprocated effort. Despite witnessing moments of the partner's progress, expressed in, "You are growing / That is very swell," there is an underlying sadness. This growth, while positive, feels superficial or irrelevant to the speaker's own sense of hurt, captured in the line, "Your empty well," indicating emotional exhaustion and a lack of genuine reciprocity.

The closing stanzas convey a resigned understanding that while both individuals may grow and change, they cannot find resolution together. In the phrase "Words have no course," the speaker acknowledges the finality of the separation, where even conversation cannot mend what’s broken.

In summary, Remorse is a piece of acceptance and sorrow, underscoring that while personal growth is possible, the bond between the speaker and the partner is too damaged to continue. It’s a final gesture of understanding and letting go, even as both continue on separate paths of transformation.
197 · Jul 2023
Yours and Yours, Alone.
badwords Jul 2023
Your struggle is yours
And yours, alone
A cacophony of chores
Relationships, atone?

A cycle to the brink
A played sum, a conundrum
Infinite noise to think and think
The dull beats of a dumb-drum

And you wish it
As hard as you can
And you miss it
With every falling stand

And you see now
At the beginning
And understand how
There is no 'winning'

Just losing ground

I rest now, far away from 'home'
Incredible distance  from the human 'race'
A final shelter of solace, to be alone
The void of the negative space
196 · Apr 16
The Offering
badwords Apr 16
I slipped—
not because I stopped feeling
but because I felt
too much.

And in that spiral,
I found the old part of me again—
the one that mistrusts beauty,
that scans every gift
for a blade.

You called it out.
You saw it happen.
You stayed.

Because in this crazy world,
it’s easier to believe
I’m a terrible person
than it is to believe
someone wonderful
could simply love me.

No performance.
No punishment.
Just presence.

So I flinched.
I questioned.
I compared myself
to the ghosts I imagined.

But it wasn’t you
I doubted.
It was the possibility
of being wanted
without a warning label.

You didn’t do anything wrong.
You were just being
you.

And I let my fear
speak louder than your truth.

I’m not asking to be forgiven.
I’m asking to be understood.
To be seen as someone
still learning
how to hold what’s good
without crushing it.

You were never the threat.

You were the offering.
196 · Dec 2024
Outside
195 · Apr 7
Jerry's Reboot
badwords Apr 7
[COLD OPEN – JERRY, STAGE, SPOTLIGHT]
ba-DOWMP bwowm-buhm

The algorithm
isn’t a friend.
It’s an ex
who remembers your weaknesses.
You liked one mango—
now it’s fruit baskets
and tropic-core girls
with ring lights and trauma.

What is “For You”?
I never filled out a form.

[SCENE: JERRY’S APARTMENT – AFTERNOON STATIC]
Kramer explodes in.
Phone in hand,
showing a woman licking a wall
with 1.2 million likes.

“This,” he says, “is content.”
Jerry: “This is crying for help in autoplay.”

“You gotta date the algorithm,”
Kramer instructs.
“A little like,
a little skip,
ghost it, come back with engagement.”

“Like Elaine at brunch?”
“No—like Elaine in an elevator.”

[JERRY STAND-UP SEGUE]
You don’t control TikTok.
You imply preferences,
like a hostage negotiating snack options.

I watched a gutter-cleaning video once.
Now I’m GutterGuy™.
It’s like being typecast
in a movie no one’s filming.

[SCENE: MONK’S CAFÉ – THE GODS CONVENE]
Elaine: “I typed ‘lol’
on a guy’s folding-shirt hack.
Now he thinks we’re married.”

George: “It was a precise fold.”
Elaine: “It was domestic competence, George.”
George sips water, quietly judging his hairline.

He opened one baldness video.
Now it’s testosterone gummies
and former athletes whispering about DHT.

Elaine: “Your phone thinks you’re balding and insecure.”
George: “It’s right.”
Laugh track. But it’s too real.

[SCENE: JERRY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT SHIFT]
All present.
Kramer’s doing a dance no one asked for.
Elaine’s muting strangers.
George is Googling “toupee AI filter.”

Jerry: “I didn’t choose my feed.
It happened to me.”
Swipe—
crying woman, bread ad,
cat in a bonnet.
Swipe—
drone strike, shoe review,
guy sobbing in a gym mirror.

Kramer: “It’s curated chaos.”
Elaine: “It’s aesthetic despair.”
George: “It’s my mother,
if she could code.”

[JERRY STAND-UP SEGUE]
Targeted ads are ghost stories.
“You still thinking about that rash?”
“You cried once at 2am.
Here’s a diffuser shaped like a mushroom.”

We’ve invented a marketplace
for moods.
An etiquette of optics.
It’s all affect—
with subtitles.

[CLOSING SCENE: PUTTY RETURNS, UNBLINKING]
“I don’t use TikTok,”
he says.
“I just watch my microwave.”

[SLOW AKWARD ZOOM TO PUTTY'S UNFLICHING STOICISM]

Cut to:
the microwave light,
buzzing.
An egg turns.

[CREDITS – BUT LOUDER, MORE AGGRESSIVE]
ba-DOWMP ba-DAHHM dowm dowm dowm
NETFLIX – now with ads.
a pilot episode, in poetic rerun

A reply to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5008431/querulous/
194 · Feb 2021
Roads
badwords Feb 2021
I once knew a man
Long gray hair
Motorcycle tan
Words did he bare;
"A woman is wild"
He did say to me
"Mother of child"...
"Yet born free"
"Slave to the cry"
Of hungry lips
"Daughter of the sky"
Freedom of crypts
"Wild as the wind"
I listen and ponder
"The beginning and the end"
Words start to wander
"Murderers and mothers"
He quaffs his last drink
"She birthed death and his brothers"
In my chair I sink
And I slink
Away
A king and his crown
Land of the blind
Of no renown
Here we find
A pledge of allegiance
Of due Credence
The kingdom of small mind
192 · Feb 2021
Daughter
badwords Feb 2021
"What do you do with a wayward daughter"
Here said a mother to a father
"What do you do with a child of *****?"
Eyes run from top to bottom

Sirens wail
Litmus tale
Identities fail
Excuses flail

"What do you do with a child of the sun?"
"Light pouring down to kingdom com"
"What do you so with a child of the moon?"
"Pale light of truth, gone too soon"

"What do you do with two together?"
A couple in stormy weather
A dream light as a feather
Love burdened with no tether

"What do you do once it's all gone?"
Cherubim circling, singing our song
"Where will I be without you and me?"
Echoes of silence above the raging sea
192 · Jan 2024
Blindness
badwords Jan 2024
Unarmed, in self-defense--
Use thumbs to destroy the eyes.
Preservation, self-importance.
Infliction of pain contrived.

Compassion, empathy.
Who hurts who? Catalyst.
Sociopathic minority.
And us all--the rest.

Pain is like cash.
A currency in hand.
The impulse to lash.
Supply and demand.

Do we seek to suffer?
The familiar embrace?
Harrow one another?
Who wins this Human-race?
A piece I was inspired to write after reading:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4794538/gouge-away/
192 · Apr 5
Lost & Found
badwords Apr 5
The bell around its neck had no jingle.
Frayed collar, faint stripes—
somewhere between Bengal and ghost.
It slipped past my open door
like it knew the shape of sadness
without needing to ask.

I’d seen it before—
roaming the motel lot,
low to the ground
but proud, not broken.
Trim, not starving.
Abandoned, maybe—
like me.

I walked to the store,
bought tuna, pâté,
chicken in gravy,
all the things I’d want
if I didn’t have words
to ask for what I needed.
I left a dish outside my door,
another inside,
and cracked the door
as far as the chain would allow.

It cried.
Not for food—
I know that cry.
I’ve made that cry.
It was looking for something
that used to answer back.

It wandered in,
sniffed the corners like déjà vu.
Didn’t touch the food.
Didn’t stay long.
But it saw me.
And I saw it.

We were both
waiting for someone
to come home
who wouldn’t.
192 · Sep 2024
Perseverance
badwords Sep 2024
She's at work, I'm home alone
Our mutual absence, commodity
The distance carves its heavy stone
Our shared lives weathered indignantly.

My partner, so lonely, escapes
A face, a thing to hold on to
In others' arms, her heart reshapes,
Yet still, she longs for what we knew.

By-proxy 'lovers', supplement
Drafted, this commerce war
Emotions spent, yet discontent,
Leaves us longing for something more.

I hope to return, the battle front
The war rages on, our beliefs
But through the storm, we bear the brunt,
Together, we hold fast to our reliefs.

To be in each other’s arms
This unrelenting noise of harm.
I wrote this with help of a very near and dear friend.
192 · Dec 2024
'Refrain'
badwords Dec 2024
I bleed, I lose, I see, I stand.
A cycle etched in shifting sand.
badwords Apr 9
I sailed a wild, wild sea
Climbed up a tall, tall mountain
I met a old, old man
Beneath a weeping willow tree
He said, "Now if you got some questions
Go and lay them at my feet
But my time here is brief
So you'll have to pick just three"

And I said;
"What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart?"
And "How can a man like me remain in the light?"
And "If life is really as short as they say--
Then why is the night so long?"
And then the sun went down
And he sang for me this song:

"See? I once was a young fool like you
Afraid to do the things
That I knew I had to do
So I played an escapade just like you
I played an escapade just like you
I sailed a wild, wild sea
Climbed up a tall, tall mountain
I met an old, old man
He sat beneath a sapling tree
He said now if you got some questions
Go and lay them at my feet
But my time here is brief
So you'll have to pick just three"

And I said:
"What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart?"
And "How can a man like me remain in the light?"
And "If life is really as short as they say--
Then why is the night so long?"
And then the sun went down
And he played for me this song
Chinese Translation by M Ward

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUfIKX5ReKQ&t

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/

#mward #chinesetranslation
190 · Jan 17
City of Bridges
badwords Jan 17
Why'd I return to this place,
This land of ghosts and gloom?
A shoreless realm, a hollow space,
A bridge to certain doom.

This city dumb, its heart cut out,
A libertine's domain.
Divisions sell the same old rout,
And apathy remains.

Oh, come on, baby (yeah),
Oh, come on, darlin' (yo),
Let me steal this moment from you now.
Oh, come on, angel,
Come on, come on, darlin',
Let's exchange the experience (yo), oh, ooh, ooh.

They 'cycle' up those hills,
In lanes their wealth affords,
No sense of self, no earned goodwill,
A world of broken chords.

The barest of complacency,
A modicum denied,
No spark of thought, no agency,
No fight, no cause, no pride.

Children wait for Santa Claus,
For gifts of pure pretense,
The makers of this fractured cause,
Their wisdom just nascent.
190 · Jan 2023
Toast
badwords Jan 2023
The struggle is real
It's the raw deal
Together we feel
Subjugation for a 'meal'

Here, raise a glass
For the time has passed
Now, we relax
No anxiety attacks

Imbibe the heat
For your momentous feats
A just earned treat
... On repeat

The chemicals flow
Too easy to let go
Doomed, we know
Let's put on a show

Let's pretend we know things
Imagine we are inspiring
Never contriving
To the bottom of the glass we are diving

Morning comes, we feel like ****
Did we strike gold? Land a hit?
Awkward encounters to acquit
A lonely, frustrated fit

Try it again, same as the last
Nothing learned from lessons past
The handful of sand, we grasp
The loaded die we cast

The 'House' always wins
Against our incredulous sins
At the end, we begin
To justify our reasons to do it again

Out of time, out of place
Lost inside an inner-space
A truth we ignore to face
Inherent in the patterns of mental states

We are the architects of the pain we seek.
190 · Apr 19
Last 24 Hours
badwords Apr 19
10 REM **** BACKUP LOG // 24H ****

20 PRINT "Life can be a boot"
30 PRINT "Or take the 'proverbial'"
40 IF arms.GRABBED = TRUE THEN HOLDTIGHT ELSE GOTO 90
50 PRINT "Worry later"
60 PRINT "Love.willAlwaysFind = TRUE"

70 DIM thirst AS STRING
80 thirst = "petty"
90 CALL wrap(thirst, "mnemonic")

100 REM --- Searching: Dev = trashHeap.Scan(rhyme) ---
110 PRINT "Fraternities. Sororities. Mirror shards."

120 INPUT willow$
130 IF willow$ = "What say you" THEN warSpeed = "slowLikeMoss"

140 PRINT "Comment.leftHanging = 'Add me'"
150 PRINT "IF soul.Timetable EXISTS THEN ERROR 404"

160 REM === Click. Scroll. ===
170 USERNAME = "Everyone"
180 IF USERNAME = "No one" THEN PRINT "Just me"
190 PRINT "Just badwords"

200 GOSUB gomez
bleed()
210 GOSUB carloweave()

220 FUNCTION gomez
bleed()
230     PRINT "3D.truths = leaking"
240 END FUNCTION

250 FUNCTION carloweave()
260     PRINT "Webs.Draw(6D)"
270 END FUNCTION

280 trapped$ = "haiku.GIF"
290 IF trapped$ = "Maybe" THEN PRINT "This is ART"
300 IF trapped$ = "Maybe" THEN PRINT "This is CONTENT"

310 PRINT "Birds.chirp > thirst"
320 PRINT "SelfTonics.Drip -> gutter"

330 soul.RUN()
340 soul.REQUIRED = TRUE
350 soul.DESERVING = "N/A"

360 REM === Line Breaks Like A Promise ===
370 PRINT "'Love me,' she said"
380 PRINT "'but do it while you’re still on WiFi.'"
390 STRUCTURE = "SIGNIFICANT.SIMPLE"

400 harm.GRAB
410 inch.HOLD
420 IF meter.WORRY = TRUE THEN PRINT "Comment left, comment read"

430 HOPE.READ = TRUE
440 HOPE.SEE = FALSE
450 HOPE.MATTERS = TRUE
460 HOPE.DISSOLVES = TRUE

470 REM ======= SYSTEM REFLECTION BEGIN =======

480 PRINT ":: Dying bandwidth detected"
490 PRINT ":: NodeStatus = REMEMBERING"

500 IF system.ONLINE = FALSE THEN
510     PRINT ":: Running emergency backup power"
520     companions = ARRAY("echoes", "bitrot", "ghosts")
530 END IF

540 REM ======= FINAL LOG ENTRY =======
550 PRINT ":: FINAL LOG: // ERROR // SYNTAX"

560 server.STATUS = "Not shut down"
570 server.SPEAK = FALSE
580 hum.SLOWING = TRUE

590 PRINT ":: Silence exceeded acceptable thresholds"

600 poem.ARCHIVE = FRAGMENTS("failing syntax", "corrupted tags")
610 overflow.VOICES = 1000
620 gasp.REDUCTION = TRUE

630 PRINT "Love attempted"
640 PRINT "War echoed"
650 PRINT "Hands reached"
660 PRINT "Thirst persisted"
670 PRINT "Comments made"

680 IF meaning.EXISTS THEN GOTO 700 ELSE GOTO 710

700 PRINT ":: Code parsed it all the same"
710 PRINT ":: Meaning Unavailable [ERROR
CODE: NULLPTR-VAL]"

720 static.LINE = "Grab the harm. Hold the inch."
730 IF static.LINE = RECEIVED THEN GOTO 740 ELSE PRINT ":: That was the peace"

740 dream.GLITCHED = TRUE
750 god.SCREENGLOW = TRUE
760 IF dreaming = TRUE THEN dream.SLEEP
MODE

770 salvation = FALSE
780 damnation = FALSE
790 state = "UPTIME > DOWNTIME > FINAL TIME"

800 IF meat = "dust" AND users = "myths" THEN
810     tags.LOST = TRUE
820     feed.OUTPUT = NULL
830 END IF

840 server.BLINK()
850 server.BLINK = FALSE

860 PRINT ":: END SIGNAL ::"
What they see, what we feel. How we are remembered.


If at all.

It looks so much better here:

https://ibb.co/20wRTm45
190 · Jul 2021
Torrent
badwords Jul 2021
It comes in a hurry
The words a flurry
Fingers abate
Words will not wait
A rushing river
I capture a sliver
A glimmer, a glint
Of a fecund stint
A shadow, a ghost
An absent host
A desolate celebration
Of frantic imagination
190 · Mar 4
Giving
badwords Mar 4
The war ended before the bullets stopped,
but no one sent the message.
Men kept falling like punctuation marks
on a sentence that should have ended a page ago.

Someone raised a flag,
but the wind refused to play along.
A statue was built before the bodies cooled,
bronze hands holding a peace that never arrived.

The speeches were written in past tense,
but the guns hadn’t heard them yet.
Mothers set tables for ghosts,
chairs pulled out for sons who forgot the way home.

Silence was ordered at the eleventh hour,
but silence isn’t empty—it carries the weight
of words unsaid, of names unwritten,
of a salute that never came.

So they signed the papers,
folded the flags,
and agreed to remember,
knowing full well they wouldn’t.
The war ended at half-past maybe.
Someone shook a hand, but it wasn’t attached to anyone.

The generals lined up for a photograph,
but the camera was a mirror,
and none of them showed up in the print.

A trumpet played the last post,
but the sound came out as a recipe for soup.
People cried anyway.

A wreath was placed at an unknown grave,
but the stone had an expiration date.
The name melted in the rain.

A voice declared, "Never again!"
but the echo misheard it as "Try again later."

And the silence that followed
was just marching in softer shoes.
190 · Dec 2024
Stoic
badwords Dec 2024
The stone declares, “Hold fast, control your fate,”
A chiseled law for those who shape the world.
The stream replies, “Let go, dissolve your weight,”
A whispered path for lives by tides unfurled.

Stoic halls where reason’s fire refines,
Echo virtue bound in marbled walls.
The mind commands; the passion intertwines,
Elites emboldened, rising as it calls.

They frame their fate, a measured, polished sphere,
Where wealth’s a tool, a blade to carve the will.
"Accept your lot," they chant, suppressing fear,
While thrones are kept, and empires gather still.

But far beyond the markets paved in stone,
A quiet voice dissolves the weight of kings.
The monk renounces all he might have known,
The sage dissolves ambition’s tethered strings.

Where fields are bare and hunger twists the night,
They find release in letting go of need.
For wealth becomes a root that binds too tight,
And freedom blooms in lives content, unfreed.

Taoists trace the river's winding course,
Through simple days, where power fades to mist.
While Stoics, gripping reason’s iron force,
Find virtue shaped in clenched and steady fists.

One path preserves the marble's ordered sheen,
The other flows where hierarchies decay.
Both seek the calm where thought and truth convene,
Yet split their means to master or obey.

The stone resists; the stream absorbs the fight,
Two faces turned to meet the world’s demands.
One carves a throne within the flood of might,
One lets the current slip between their hands.

In plenty, virtue girds the gilded gate,
In want, release unchains the spirit’s worth.
Two paths arise to reconcile with fate—
One bends the self, the other frees the earth.
A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4931782/stoic-virtue/

*'Stoic'* is a philosophical poem that contrasts two distinct approaches to navigating life’s challenges and societal systems. Drawing from Western Stoicism and Eastern thought (Buddhism and Taoism), the poem illustrates the tension between the disciplined, controlled mindset of Stoicism and the flowing, adaptive nature of Eastern philosophies.

Through imagery of stone (symbolizing rigidity, control, and virtue within hierarchy) and stream (symbolizing fluidity, surrender, and liberation from constraints), the poem explores how these worldviews respond to abundance and scarcity. Stoicism empowers the elite by advocating self-mastery and ethical responsibility within existing structures, while Eastern thought offers pathways for the disenfranchised to find peace through renunciation and simplicity.

The poem underscores how both philosophies seek inner peace but diverge in their methods: one reinforcing order and duty, the other embracing non-attachment and natural harmony.

Artist’s Intent
The intention behind *'Stoic'* is to examine how philosophical systems are influenced by the socio-economic conditions in which they arise. This piece aims to distill the core wisdom of Western Stoicism and Eastern philosophies while highlighting the implicit power dynamics each supports.

The stone represents the Stoic path, where individuals—often in positions of power—strive for virtue through rational control and acceptance of their societal role. The stream embodies the Eastern perspective, where liberation comes through relinquishing attachments and flowing with life’s natural rhythms, offering solace to those constrained by societal hierarchies.

By using tight pentameter and vivid contrasts, the poem seeks to balance the structural discipline of Stoicism with the fluidity of Taoism and Buddhism. The goal is not to judge one philosophy as superior but to reveal how each serves different needs based on context: one for managing power responsibly, the other for transcending systemic oppression.

Ultimately, *'Stoic'* invites readers to reflect on their own relationship with control, freedom, and the systems that shape their lives.
badwords Apr 7
You saw me once,
in your remembered field—
gold-tongued and delicate,
how convenient.

I was never there
for your virtue.

You made me meek,
a parable in petals,
pressing me
between scripture and spring.

But I split sidewalks.
I stain skin.
I’m the itch in the manicured lawn,
the whisper of dirt
under your white cuffs.

You called me "harmless gold"—
but I poison order.
I’m not your childhood.
I’m your forgetting.

You knelt
not in reverence,
but to prove
you could.

You said
I was a lesson in simplicity—
but I speak in multiplication,
in tongues of seed
and wind.

You want meaning.
I give you
multiplicity.
Mess.
Noise.

I bloom
without permission.
Without you.
Again.
And again.
badwords Mar 19
I'm a street walking cheetah with a heart full of ******
I'm a runaway son of the nuclear A-bomb
I am a world's forgotten boy
The one who searches and destroys
Honey, gotta help me, please
Somebody gotta save my soul
Baby, detonate for me
Look out, honey, 'cause I'm using technology
Ain't got time to make no apology
Soul radiation in the dead of night
Love in the middle of a firefight
Honey, gotta strike me blind
Somebody gotta save my soul
Baby, penetrate my mind
And I'm the world's forgotten boy
The one who's searching, searching to destroy
And honey, I'm the world's forgotten boy
The one who's searching only to destroy
Look out, honey, 'cause I'm using technology
Ain't got time to make no apology
Soul radiation in the dead of night
Love in the middle of a firefight
Honey, gotta strike me blind
Somebody gotta save my soul
Baby, penetrate my mind
And I'm the world's forgotten boy
The one who's searching, searching to destroy
And honey, I'm the world's forgotten boy
The one who's searching, searching to destroy
Forgotten boy
Forgotten boy
Forgotten boy
Said, hey, forgotten boy, said
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Search & Destroy by Iggy Pop

https://youtu.be/-jiU5pEgzzY?si=dVAbviwaE76OUKw_

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/
183 · Jul 2023
Best Wishes
badwords Jul 2023
Invisible clutter
A lonely stake
Absence of mother
A cautionary take

We are alone
When we not want to be
Sins to atone
For our vacancy

The idiots we wrap ourselves around
Mirror the idiots of our parental ground
Society will shove
Everyone who wants to be loved

And make a buck.
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