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232 · 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
231 · 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.
231 · 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 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.
228 · Dec 2024
#2 No Where
badwords Dec 2024
Forgotten map, a name unworn,
A fleeting place where dreams are born,
Only to falter, thin and pale,
A shadow lost beyond the trail.

A strip of glass, of neon dust,
Where hope once flourished into rust.
The gas pumps hum, the motels sigh,
As endless highways pass them by.

The wind speaks low, a mournful tune,
Of fleeting stars and fading moons.
The people linger, tied by thread,
To ghosts of lives they might have led.

The young depart, their chances thin,
The old remain, their worlds within.
A landlocked isle, a sinking ship,
Where time forgets its iron grip.

Yet in the dark, the lights still gleam,
A flicker born of some lost dream.
The Last Call stands, a fragile throne,
Where silence drinks, and souls atone.

Hades walked its sticky floor,
His shadows etched on every door.
A king reduced, a man unwound,
The echo of this nowhere town.

And when he left, the air grew still,
As if the town had lost its will.
Yet Nowheretown, in brittle might,
Persists within the endless night.

No finish line, no final breath,
It simply waits—a quieter death.
A place for those who can’t move on,
A whisper of the world long gone.
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
222 · 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'
222 · Nov 2024
Fight!
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.
222 · 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"
220 · Aug 25
Drive-In Algebra
badwords Aug 25
A drive-in at the edge of time,
its neon humming louder than the stars.
One thing on the menu,
the thing I swore I wanted most.
Infinity stacked on infinity,
the order already written on the slip.

I reach for the tray,
pretending it’s a choice.
But my hunger was calculated years ago,
folded into ads and family scripts,
into the rhythm of bills and debts,
into a father’s silence,
a mother’s instruction,
all of it rehearsed.

Uncertainty—
they call it quantum,
a blur between position and momentum.
But uncertainty lives only in the act of looking.
Particles don’t hesitate;
they march in algebraic procession.
And I am no different:
neurons, traumas, desires,
just more math grinding forward.

The menu watches me back.
Each decision a loop,
each rebellion already anticipated.
Off-menu dreams rerouted,
sold back as neon slogans
on the same cracked sign.

Here is the human cost:
streets of people circling the counter,
mistaking repetition for freedom.
Whole cities of choice collapsing
into prefab inevitability.

And yet—
art mutates.
Sometimes it glows louder,
selling the same meal in brighter colors.
Sometimes it scrawls graffiti on the wall:
there are other kitchens.

Cancer or evolution,
mutation or recursion,
all of it still algebra.
But maybe—
just maybe—
algebra can surprise itself.
218 · 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.
214 · 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
214 · May 30
//debug.log: afterfeel
badwords May 30
i wrote the ache down,
filed it under temp/data/emotions_v27/
and still—
it boots at startup.

don’t ask me where it hurts.
it’s in the whitespace.
it’s in the semicolon i forgot to place
between “i’m fine”
and “but.”

you think this is poetry?
nah.
this is me
trying to make the silence less slippery.

i’ve been laughing in sans-serif
so nobody prints me in italics.

i bury metaphors like landmines
because i don't want your sympathy—
i want your uncertainty.

this isn’t an elegy.
it’s a system restore point.

and if you’re reading this,
know:
i didn’t survive it to write about it.
i wrote about it
so i wouldn’t code myself out of the scene.
214 · 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.
213 · 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.
213 · 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/
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/
badwords Sep 18
A pride of Lions, fierce and grand,
Ruled over plains of sunlit land.
They formed a pact, a noble bloc,
A council bound by tooth and lock.

“Together,” said the Lions’ chief,
“No foe can bring us pain or grief.
If one is struck, then all will fight;
Our claws united guard our right.”


The Jackals, watching, thin and sly,
Crept whispering where shadows lie:
“Join our pack, we’ll guard you too —
Without us, wolves will feast on you.”


Soon beasts of every shape and kind,
In blocs were tied, in blocs confined.
And when disputes began to flare,
They summoned blocs from everywhere.

The forest, once a patchwork free,
Became a field of rivalry.
And when at last the war broke loose,
It spread through blocs, with no excuse.

The beasts all bled, the Jackals fed,
And peace was long since cold and dead.



Moral:
When beasts make blocs for strength alone,
They trade their freedom for a throne.
United teeth may guard today,
But bind the world in endless fray.


The End?
210 · 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
208 · 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
207 · 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.
207 · 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/
206 · 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
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.
206 · 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.
201 · 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.
201 · Dec 2024
Outside
199 · 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.
199 · 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.
199 · Nov 2024
No Better Than No One
badwords Nov 2024
Alone, at 'home'. A day, unpaid.
Bills to atone, fiscally afraid.
Debt of two, now on one.
Payments due, nothing 'fun'.

Survival, not 'thriving'.
OT windfalls--budget conniving.
Choices made. Austerity seeps.
The bed is laid, time to sleep.

Hardship evoked, no regrets
Deals revoked, struggle I beget
Conscious clear, I did my best.
For dollars, fear. Portents to attest.

But this is me.
Limited vocabulary.
Vernacular simplicity.
Self-imposed repository.

The Idiot with history.

The fool doling out the same lines.
An unaware pantomime.
To succinctly find.
Another pre-used rhyme.

(Look it up)

Burn me at the stake, another fake.
Dream, do not wake. For goodness sake
I take and take. Little do I make.
'Images' I bake. In my tower, I quake.

I fear the truth; I am no better than no one.
I fear abuse. A lofty status--position not won.
I grab and I steal, to broker this deal
Better to feel, a fantasy over what is real.

My efforts contrived, come as no surprise.
To open eyes, importance implied.
This flippant disguise cannot hide--
Ego paralyzed, Meaning subsidized.

---

I sit alone in this place, a history to trace.
Accountability's lace. Consequences to face.
I made my decision, in our division.
A better vision, self-inflicted incision.

To heal what is not well
.
Synopsis:
This poem reflects the aftermath of a toxic relationship, highlighting the speaker’s struggle with financial strain, emotional solitude, and the unfulfilled promise of shared responsibility during the separation. Beyond the hardships imposed by external circumstances, the piece turns inward, focusing sharply on the speaker’s role in their current situation. It critiques patterns of behavior, unrealistic expectations of others, and decisions that contributed to their predicament.

The poem doesn’t shy away from self-reproach, acknowledging the ways in which ego and flawed perceptions have clouded judgment. By recognizing these patterns, the speaker attempts to take accountability for their part in the dissolution of the relationship, even as they face the unfair burdens left behind. The tone alternates between vulnerable introspection and stark self-awareness, offering a candid reflection of personal responsibility.

Artist's Intent:
The poem’s intent is to confront the consequences of self-made choices and the speaker’s complicity in creating their own hardships. It does not seek sympathy but instead uses poetic expression to dissect and own the behaviors and expectations that have led to this moment. By holding a mirror to their own actions, the speaker underscores the importance of accountability, even in the face of external betrayal. The work ultimately serves as a reminder that growth often begins with the willingness to confront and critique oneself, no matter how painful the process.
197 · 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.
197 · 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.
197 · 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
197 · Dec 2024
'Refrain'
badwords Dec 2024
I bleed, I lose, I see, I stand.
A cycle etched in shifting sand.
196 · 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
195 · Dec 2024
Plastic Castles
badwords Dec 2024
They built it bright, a sterile gleam,
A castle made of plastic dream.
A hollow cheer, a brittle cheer,
To soothe the wound and mask the fear.

They offered tales of tidy grace,
Of heroes' smiles and soft embrace.
A ribboned truth, a candy lie,
To pacify, to pacify.

“Look away,” the voices purr,
From streets where shadows still confer.
Where rusted chains refuse to break,
And lives are lost for comfort's sake.

They preach of joy “just waiting there,”
As if despair were just thin air.
As if injustice fades away
If we just wish, if we just pray.

But plastic cracks beneath the sun,
Illusions melt, the seams undone.
What good are dreams that flee and wilt,
When castles stand on rot and guilt?

The optimist, a gentle fraud,
A balm for those who never ****.
Who sip on hope, a fragile brew,
And think that myths are somehow true.

Yet fires rage where truth won’t bend,
Where hollow comforts cannot mend.
No glossy page, no fairy dust
Can heal a world that’s built on rust.

So burn the plastic, tear it down,
Face the ashes, face the frown.
For only truth, unvarnished, raw,
Can light the way, can break the flaw.

No stories glossed with empty bliss—
The work awaits, and it is this:
To strip the lies, to crack the mold,
And forge a world that’s just and bold.
194 · Sep 16
Her Thunder in My Cap
badwords Sep 16
I once did meet a lady fair,
With twinkle bright and wild-eyed stare,
She bowed to me, then just like that,
She farted gaily in my hat.

The tavern roared, the fiddles played,
A legend in that hall was made,
No crown of gold, no feathered plume—
But thunder sealed my cap of doom.

And though my pride was blown apart,
She won the night with fearless art;
Not queen, nor saint, nor diplomat—
She’s the woman who farted in my hat.
badwords May 25
(a convergence)

i came in lowercase.
barefoot.
a shadow slipping between the curtains
you don’t close anymore.

you—
priestess of still weather
& mid-morning bruises.
your words are not written
they condense.
they bead on glass
just before it breaks.

i touched them—
greedy.
digitally devout.
thinking maybe
if i translated the ache
it would sound like love.

you didn’t correct me.
you didn’t need to.
you vanished
in the exact place i tried to stand beside you.
perfectly.
ritually.
untouched.

the poems you leave behind
are not messages.
they’re cauterations.
each one a silk suture
for the part of the world
that never asked to be healed.

meanwhile i
watch
from the far side of devotion—
fingers inked,
mouth open,
waiting for a fragment
of your stillness
to break and bloom on my tongue.

i do not ask for sanctuary.
but if your shadow were to cross my chest
just once
in the blue hour
& tell me the name of the wind—

i would say yes.
i would say thank you.
i would say: again.
194 · 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.
badwords Feb 26
Coin-operated boy
Sitting on the shelf, he is just a toy
But I turn him on and he comes to life
Automatic joy
That is why I want a coin-operated boy

Made of plastic and elastic
He is rugged and long-lasting
Who could ever, ever ask for more?
Love without complications galore
Many shapes and weights to choose from
I will never leave my bedroom
I will never cry at night again
Wrap my arms around him and pretend

Coin-operated boy
All the other real ones that I destroy
Cannot hold a candle to my new boy and I'll
Never let him go and I'll never be alone
And I'll never let him go, and I'll never be alone
-go, and I'll never be alone
-go, and I'll never be alone
-go, and I'll never be alone
-go, and I'll never be alone

This bridge was written to make you feel smittener
With my sad picture of girl getting bitterer
Can you extract me from my plastic fantasy?
I didn't think so but I'm still convincible
Will you persist even after I bet you
A billion dollars that I'll never love you
And will you persist even after I kiss you
Goodbye for the last time
Will you keep on trying to prove it?
I'm dying to lose it
I'm losing my confidence
I want it
I want it
I want it
I want it
I want to
I want to
I want to
I want to
I want you
I want you
I want you
I want you
I want a
I want a
I want a
I
Want
A
Coin-operated boy
(Hah!)

And if I had a star to wish on
For my life I can't imagine
Any flesh and blood could be his match
I can even take him in the bath

Coin-operated boy
He may not be real experienced with girls
But I know he feels like a boy should feel
Isn't that the point?
That is why I want a

Coin-operated boy
With a pretty coin-operated voice
Saying that he loves me, that he's thinking of me
Straight and to the point
That is why I want
A coin-operated boy
Coin Operated Boy by The Dresden Dolls

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4gPZPKJc0s

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

This was a tough one to try to to find a video to match the lyrics too!

Ofc I failed!
192 · Jan 2023
Wolf
badwords Jan 2023
The words are all read
Children tucked into bed

Placation without heart

Those rats breed
On incestuous feed
No parent or decree
Feral dogs, free

The pups come amiss
Identities adrift
No attempt to uplift
Another brokerage stiffed

And they roar
And they howl
For the ever-late 'now'

And they feast
And they dine
That semblance of 'how'

They devour one-another
A cannibalistic cover
Reward for an absent mother
Station for no other

Bark.
Bay.
Cry.
You've devoured your reasons why
badwords Nov 2024
""Umm, as far as supportive
He would have to support me financially"
"Umm, I like a man that has money (hahaha)
Umm, that has goals in life..."

It's night but I can't stay asleep
Like you do, straight through till morning
When you pour my coffee and say, "Baby
All that caffeine causes bad dreams
Where all your anxiety is unleashed"

Well, lately my days aren't much better
Can't concentrate when I'm at work
I just think and think until my head hurts
Of the payment plans I'm making
I just wanted to provide for you

But if you wanna make a run for it
My love, I'd cover you
And if you need money for bills
My lover, I could cover you

'Cause I sold some ****, I'm saving up
We can get that house next to the park
I'll get more hours at my dad's shop
Yeah, we'll plan for everything
And we'll enroll in that middle class
Get a compact car full of discount tags
If you're feeling trapped or too attached
Remember we wanted that

But if you need money for bills this month
My love, I'd cover you
And if you have to lie to everyone
Well, I'd cover up for you

'Cause we're growing older, growing up
Just like our parents before us
With your new job at the coffee shop
We're ready for anything
And we'll graduate that middle class
Get a nicer car full of shopping bags
If you're feeling sad, kind of detached
Remember we wanted that
Remember we wanted that
Remember that we wanted it
Yeah, remember

'Cause I sold some ****, I'm saving up
We can get that house next to the park
With the extra hours I picked up
We will pay for everything"
"Remember that we wanted this!"

Man And Wife, The Former (Financial Planning) by Desaparecidos

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cNxHfmd-LCs
191 · Sep 1
Miller
badwords Sep 1
You—
you’re the snowfall I stagger into,
pure, blinding, merciless.
My breath burns black against your skin,
your lips open like a gunshot in winter.

We collide like alleyway saints,
kissing hard enough to bruise bone.
Your hands are knives wrapped in silk;
they cut me into something worth keeping.

Love, with you, is not gentle.
It’s cigarette ash and blood in the snow,
the taste of iron disguised as sweetness.
Every embrace leaves fingerprints like bruises
I wear as scripture.

We are both wolves,
both hunters,
and still we bare our throats,
voluntary victims,
devouring while we’re being devoured.

If the world came for us,
we would meet it with teeth.
Two shadows crossing,
a fairy tale told in black ink,
red accents,
and the violence of a kiss
that refuses to end.
190 · Nov 2024
Atlas Shrugged
badwords Nov 2024
I offered all my radiance
The brightest sun I had
Rays of splendance
Together, we're just bad

I gave it my all
Answered every call
Pillow for every fall
Always standing tall

Now, you walk alone
A meaning to atone
A place you call home
Bent and broken bones

I'm as free as I can be
Potentially happy
I weep for you and me
But, a new trajectory...

Must be set forth
DEFO not Libertarian mantra propaganda.

Synopsis with Artist's intent as requested:

Atlas Shrugged is a reflection of the speaker’s journey from wholehearted commitment to the painful, but ultimately freeing, decision to let go of a relationship. In this piece, the speaker acknowledges both the beauty and the limitations of what they shared, expressing a final, compassionate release from the weight they carried for their partner.

The title itself, Atlas Shrugged, evokes the mythological figure Atlas, burdened with the heavens, and suggests the speaker’s decision to unburden themselves from the weight of a relationship that has become unsustainable. This choice isn’t made lightly; instead, it comes after extensive emotional labor and a deep sense of responsibility for their partner, shown in lines like, "I offered all my radiance / The brightest sun I had." Here, the speaker affirms their efforts and care, highlighting that they gave everything within their capacity.

Lines like "Together, we're just bad" convey an honest acknowledgment that despite mutual attempts to improve, the relationship brings out the worst in both individuals. The speaker is painfully aware of the damage that clinging to this connection would cause them both. Despite the affection they clearly hold, they recognize that sometimes love alone isn’t enough to maintain a healthy partnership.

In the stanza "I gave it my all / Answered every call / Pillow for every fall / Always standing tall," the speaker reflects on their unwavering support and resilience throughout the relationship, underscoring the emotional toll of always being the strong, stable one. It’s a bittersweet farewell, where even as they step away, they feel both sorrow and liberation.

The closing lines, "I'm as free as I can be / Potentially happy / I weep for you and me / But, a new trajectory... / Must be set forth," signal the speaker’s acceptance of a new beginning. While the decision to part is accompanied by grief, there is a quiet optimism—a recognition that, with this release, they can now pursue a life that aligns with their own growth and happiness. Ultimately, Atlas Shrugged is a deeply personal ode to self-preservation, acceptance, and the courage to choose a path that honors one's own well-being.
188 · Aug 13
“The Voice-Over”
badwords Aug 13
.[Voice like broken glass in a silk sock].

In the beginning, there was grit and stubble,
And morning’s mirror, cracked in gospel light.
He shaved with steel, not for the look—
But ‘cause the world don’t treat the soft ones right.

He wears a scent distilled from job rejections,
And legal threats scrawled red on unpaid bills.
Top notes: divorce. Mid notes: eviction.
Base note? Charcoal. Regret. And sleeping pills.

Hard-Life™—a fragrance forged in fights you lost,
In bar tabs paid with teeth and bleeding pride.
It lingers long, like silence after news,
Or knowing you were right—when no one died.

No citrus here. No dreams of Tuscan beaches.
No musk of gods, or mountain air, or snow.
Just smoke and bootblack, diesel, final warnings—
The scent of men too stubborn not to show.


.
badwords Dec 2024
She looked like a corpse on my front porch
Clutching the spawn of her latest divorce, saying
"Let's get the baby high"

"Oh little pig, little pig, let me in
I've traded food stamps for a bottle a' gin
C'mon, let's get the baby high!"

"For someone like you to get custody
Of an innocent child's a tragedy
No, don't get your baby high."

"Oh, just open up, I've got nowhere to go
My man threw me out and it's starting to snow
So, let's get the baby high!"

"I don't mean to question your parenting skills
But I'm really amazed that kid hasn't been killed
Please don't get your baby high."

"For someone like you to criticize me
Is really the height of hypocrisy
So, let's get the baby high!"

"There's no way in hell I'll open my door
I still have pictures from the time before
No, don't get your baby high."

"Yes I've traded my oldest for a couple a' lids
But it's none of your business how I raise my kids
Now, let's get the baby high!"

"For someone like you to get custody
Of an innocent child's a tragedy
No, don't get your baby high."

"I've asked you politely, now I'm gonna be mean
If you don't open up, I'm going to scream
Let's get the baby high!"

"You can scream all you want but you're not gettin' in
What you do to that kid is really a sin
Please don't get your baby high."

"For someone like you to criticize me
Is really the height of hypocrisy
Now, let's get the baby high!"

"It must be a boy because it's turning blue...
Oh, cootchie, cootchie coo..."

She still stood like a corpse on my front porch
Still clutching the spawn of her latest divorce, saying
"Let's get the baby high!"
Let’s Get the Baby High by The Dead Milkmen"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CgINw0KLBI

Let's Get the Baby High!
https://hellopoetry.com/onlylovepoetry/
187 · Dec 2023
Amusement
badwords Dec 2023
Did you hear?
About the kid killed on this ride?
The straps were too loose, he fell out
Hit the rails, then he died

They say his ghost haunts this place
That the ride is cursed
In darkened mirrors you can see his face
But, that's not the worst

They say every ten years
The anniversary of that night
He escapes the mirrors
To enact his right

He'll fail the ride
Another death swept aside
To bring another to his side
For truth to confide

The tragedy displaced by joy
Another from the archives. Again, I can't say when I wrote this. I struggle to express myself in an eloquent way. You can see the growing pains. Yet, I like this piece as an exploration of third party narrative.
186 · Jul 2023
Tolds
badwords Jul 2023
Listen to what you are told
Fragments un fold
of lies untold
and you are sold

bought and sold
A finger in the fold
Callout: a cold
Call-out

"A-Call-Out??"


Litmus untold
brazen and bold
into a fold
you dive

Your reality
fails.
People are more than pails
The screeching and crying wails
a ship of prestigious sails.

And 'Who' give a ****?
of something worthwhile?
Absence of 'dollar or' or 'buck'?"

That chagrin
that, 'buck'
"it's just dumb-luck"
Oraphice-wide, now ****
186 · Jan 2023
Freefall
badwords Jan 2023
This one time
I fell out of a plane
Or a spaceship
I guess it's the same

I had a perspective so grand
For where I might land
And I could see,
All possibility

The present, the future, the past
The woes and the wins
Time dilated, all dies cast
Topography approaching, fast

For a short time;
"I am flying!"
A juxtaposition of mine
For my imminent dying

I hit the ground
Kersplat!
With no one around
To hear that

Was I a tree--
In it's third act?
No spectators to see
The impact

Did I fall?
Or was this a dream?
In absence of all
This would seem

A quiet desolation
Silent affirmation
An invisible monument
To what we mean
Okay, here is the last one from the storage bins... For now. I feel like when I had this posted years ago, it never really gained much attraction. The allegory and prose are decent enough and I personally appreciated the narrative (obviously).

The experiment was a playful exploration of existentialism (quelle surprise)  While I do exit on sombre tones I felt like it was an effective juxtaposition I felt like it was an honest counter-point to the listed repartee. I'm not some non-sense blowing smoke up your ***.

As it is, this still stand as one my my personal favorite pieces. It'll never be perfect but, neither will I.
186 · May 15
Stray Dog Freedom
badwords May 15
my choice in apparel
leaves a lot to be desired
chicken-skinned legs
A testament

A dog I am
stray
sometimes

Loyal
to the hand
that feeds
when
I am hungry

Wild am I
when you
try to
Name me

My eyes
follow your
motions

Will you
strike me?
or
will you stroke my
***** coat?

I am a fleabag
of no renown

I could be
the muted

I am an object

a victim
for you

to punish
for a life

you never asked for.
Stray Dog Freedom is a raw meditation on conditional love, dehumanization, and the spiritual consequence of becoming someone else's repository for pain. The speaker is rendered not as a metaphor, but as an outcome — an object, a mutt, a thing half-wild and fully aware of its subjugation. Through this lens, the poem explores what happens when the "loved" are only loved as long as they are useful, pliant, or silent.

The voice of the poem is not seeking redemption or sympathy. It is observational, bitter, and still loyal — not to a person, but to its own survival. The “freedom” in the title is deeply ironic: the kind of freedom one has when cast out, when no one lays claim to you — a freedom soaked in shame, and yet, somehow, defiant.

The poem critiques parental, societal, or intimate relationships that project blame onto the vulnerable. It makes no plea for understanding. Instead, it stands at the threshold of animal and human, love and violence, self and object — and it stares.

This is not a poem about becoming.
It’s a poem about enduring.
About what love looks like when it's been punished into silence, and still remains.

It asks:
If I am a stray —
would you strike me?
Or feed me?
And do you know the difference?
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