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badwords Dec 2024
I was a king of feral dogs,
Teeth bared, a crown of scars.
I carved my throne in crimson tides,
But the echoes of my reign still mar.

In Nowheretown, a purgatory plain,
I lingered where the restless wane.
A crumbling strip, a dying breath,
This sanctuary—a slower death.

The Last Call clung to brittle glass,
A temple for the lives that pass.
Sticky floors, the dimmest light,
A shrine to shadows in the night.

And I, its keeper, silent stone,
The weight of all my sins my own.
I drank to drown the barking pack,
But the ghosts of harm still pulled me back.

She came in silk, in cold November,
A porcelain face I’d always remember.
Her ankh swung low, her steps were light,
And yet, she carried endless night.

“It’s time to go,” she said to me,
“You’ve paid enough; now come and see.
Where we go, your glass won’t dry,
And the weight you bear, we’ll leave behind.”

I nodded slow, no words to say,
For what is left when debts won’t pay?
Not perfect, no, but I did my best,
And to retire—to do no harm—was rest.

In fading glass and failing light,
I left the town to its quiet plight.
Not as a king, nor as a man,
But as a shadow who simply ran.

Through her embrace, the end began,
Not absolution, but a plan.
To do no harm, for good’s in vain—
To leave behind the beast, the chain.

And as the November winds do howl,
I fade into the eternal prowl.
A feral dog, at last set free,
From the ghosts of harm and memory.
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 Dec 2024
She walks with grace, a quiet tide,
No need for doors; they open wide.
Her presence felt before she's seen,
A shadow cast, a space between.

Her hair a crown of chaos worn,
A tapestry of life forlorn.
Her alabaster skin aglow,
A canvas pale, the moonlight's throw.

Her voice is soft, a tender hum,
A song that calls, “Your time has come.”
Yet in her gaze, no cruel decree,
Just quiet truth and certainty.

Her steps are light, her path aligned,
No chains to bind, no wrath confined.
A necklace swings, an ankh, a key,
Unlocking what is meant to be.

She doesn't judge, she doesn't scorn,
She greets the weary, scarred, and worn.
No need for malice, force, or fire,
For all will answer her desire.

She whispers hope to those who weep,
A promise made, “Forever sleep.”
For in her arms, there lies release,
A final breath, a quiet peace.

Yet in her wake, some still resist,
Clutching life with trembling fist.
But even they will one day learn,
All roads will lead to her return.

Death is not the end they fear,
But a companion, always near.
With gentle hand, she clears the way,
And guides the lost to night from day.
badwords Dec 2024
Hades left, but no one cried,
The bar stayed open, life complied.
Another drink, another night,
The same old faces, the same dim light.

The jukebox dead, the neon low,
The bartender poured, the TV glowed.
Sportsball flickered, some team scored,
Nobody cheered, nobody roared.

A truck pulled in, a truck pulled out,
Engines growled, tires turned about.
The gas pumps clicked, the motel keys jingled,
The air grew cold, and collars mingled.

Nobody asked, “Where did he go?”
Nobody cared, or didn’t show.
They raised their glasses, tipped their hats,
The world moved on, just like that.

The sticky floors still held their own,
The fading lights still cast their tone.
The doors swung shut, the wind went quiet,
Routine returned, a steady diet.

In Nowheretown, it’s always been
A place of ends, a place of when.
Hades gone? It’s just one more,
Life shuffles on, same as before.
Previous:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4930058/2-no-where/

Start Over:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4930049/1-hades-lament/

Check out the Nowheretown Anthology:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135790/nowheretown/


Go Nowhere:
https://kiloblitz.net/2024/12/09/life-of-nowhere/
badwords Jan 2024
I need a vacation.
Grippy-Socks™ Included!
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
I gave it all, for you
Nothing left to do
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
badwords Aug 2024
It's true! All my lovers died.
Failure to meet the fantasy contrived.
Fabricated identities swept aside.
Only a reality in which to abide.

Really, to no surprise;
I find myself lonely.
My rouse, casted disguise.
Imaginary 'only'.
My bastion of 'lies'.
Who is the 'phony'?
Rose-tinted eyes.

They get nothing from me.
Nary even the tiniest glint.
I reward them with apathy.
They dutifully serve this stint.

Hoarding, another's mint.
My failures in me.
Covetous greed and glint.
Desire for a possibility.
Promises to keep, I didn't.
Failure to accept reality.
Unreciprocated emails, sent.

Love is the drug I'm looking for.
Fabrications manifest to adore.
An imaginarily brokered store.
Yet, inside is where i need more.

Instead of an ideal killed by reality.
wow, I ****** this up :\
badwords Dec 2024
Beneath the surface of our giving,
A quiet echo, always living.
The hand extended, the gift bestowed,
Holds traces of what the heart is owed.

In every act of kindness shown,
A seed of self is always sown.
A smile exchanged, a burden shared,
The giver leaves their soul ensnared.

Transaction speaks in whispers faint,
Not loud enough to mar the saint.
Yet woven in the tapestry,
Is the thread of reciprocity.

Evolution’s pen, so deftly writ,
Has carved the rules; we benefit.
To give is to connect, survive,
To keep the fire of bonds alive.

But purest light, we chase, we yearn,
For altruism that won’t return.
A gift devoid of self, of gain,
A spotless deed, untouched by stain.

And here, the fallacy takes form,
A standard raised against the norm.
To cast aside what’s real, profound,
For lofty heights that can’t be found.

For in the real, the flawed, the small,
Lies beauty woven through it all.
A kindness fraught with give and take
Still soothes the wounds that living makes.

Should we dismiss imperfect grace,
Because it wears a human face?
Or hold it close, and see it whole,
A blend of heart, and mind, and soul.

The saintly act, the selfish cheer,
Are not as distant as they appear.
For even joy in giving free
Forms part of our humanity.

So let us honor deeds once spurned,
Where subtle trades of trust are earned.
And measure worth by what is done,
Not by the motives of the one.

For if perfection is the goal,
We’ll find no virtue in the soul.
Yet in the flawed, the fractured light,
Shines something real, and something right.

Reflection
Altruism is no saint’s domain,
But the hand that lifts through joy or pain.
A mirror held to humankind,
Revealing heart, and what’s behind.
A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4926937/what-about-me/

**Synopsis**
This poem, Altruism's Mirror, explores the multifaceted nature of altruism, juxtaposing the realistic, transactional aspects of human kindness with the idealized concept of selfless giving. The verses acknowledge that altruistic acts, though often celebrated as purely selfless, are deeply entwined with human psychology, biology, and social constructs.

Through vivid imagery and reflective tones, the poem weaves a narrative that critiques the pursuit of "pure altruism" as an unattainable standard, likening this pursuit to the **Nirvana Fallacy**. It invites the reader to embrace the imperfection inherent in acts of kindness, emphasizing that flawed and transactional altruism still holds profound value in fostering connection, survival, and mutual support.

The poem also highlights the inherent beauty in altruistic acts, regardless of their underlying motivations. It challenges the dismissal of acts deemed "impure" for carrying elements of self-interest, reframing them as authentic expressions of humanity.

**Artist’s Intent:**
The poet aims to reconcile the tension between the ideal and the real, urging readers to move past the binary of "selfless" versus "self-serving" acts. Through this piece, the artist seeks to celebrate the complexity of altruism, emphasizing that its worth lies not in its perfection but in its impact. By embracing the transactional nature of giving as part of the human condition, the poem calls for a more compassionate and pragmatic view of altruistic behavior.

Ultimately, Altruism's Mirror is a meditation on human nature, inviting readers to find beauty in the nuanced interplay between generosity, self-interest, and connection. It challenges the notion that altruism must be pure to be meaningful, suggesting that the flawed, everyday acts of kindness are the truest reflections of our shared humanity.
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.
badwords Jan 2024
I remember when love was 'pure'.
When everything was sure.
Everyone had 'somebody'.
No one, 'A nobody'.

I bought those tales.
Young, a fool.
A story of 'fails'.
There is no 'school'.

'Try again', after hurt.
Meaning less than dirt.
How much?
Why is such?

We are animals, set free.
Nothing true yet, we decree.
Loneliness, the enemy.
'Love' the door, 'compromise' the 'key'.

At what point is suffering perpetuity?
When are we free?
There is 'you' there is 'me'
Pain, solidarity.

Why are we alone, together?
We both want better.
'Do we ask for this?'
The clocks amiss.

When it's good; it's great.
My reservations can wait.
When it's bad, I cry.
Ask myself, 'Why?'

But, I want you
Your sadness is my joy.
You give me reason, payments due:
A place for a broken toy.
badwords Nov 2024
Once upon a time. Very, very long ago
I found myself in infinite black.
Without direction, I started to go,
moving forward, never looking back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This duality speaks to a broader philosophical and artistic intent: to explore the balance between beginnings and endings, despair and hope, darkness and light. The artist uses these poems to express a unified vision of existence, echoing their belief in the harmonious interplay of science, philosophy, and spirituality through the lens of art.
badwords 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.
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.
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.
badwords Feb 26
I hold the scalpel at arm’s length,
a careful incision where the warmth should be.
The heart does not pulse.
It does not scream.
It does not protest the opening.

I map the hollow chambers,
trace the empty arteries,
expecting—what?
A flare of recognition?
A spark beneath the skin?

Nothing.

Just tissue,
just structure,
just the mechanism where something lived.

I suture it shut,
not out of care,
but habit.
Not out of hope,
but memory.

And in the silence of the steel table,
I wonder if the ghost of it still lingers,
or if I only imagined it beating at all.
badwords Jun 2024
I woke up this morning.
Everything as is.
Masks, adorning.
Again, the slider has slid.

I went to work today.
My effort to have shelter.
My role, dollars play.
Same-y, helter-skelter.

Prescribed breaks, no aid.
Job in jeopardy.
Technologically afraid.
'Management' in Ed Hardy.

I serve my time.
Come home, unwind.
Here to find.
A lonely mind.

And I ask,

Myself:

"Was I 'me' today?"
"Did I do things 'my way'?"
"Did  relinquish to the fray?"
"Can I survive another day?"

I Feel lonely all the time.
Just an idiot behind rhyme.
To be lonely is to not be alone.
Words make you a home.

At least in yourself.
badwords Dec 2024
To leave this small town, I would dare,
If courage found its way to me.
A wasteland's blue and brown despair,
Cogs turning, struts of industry.

For years I toiled, for years I ran,
The pace relentless, never slowed.
Yet once again, here I began,
Back at the end of the road.
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 Dec 2024
I rest.
To not wake.
badwords Nov 2024
One of those ******* awful black days
When nothing is pleasing and everything that happens
is an excuse for anger
An outlet for emotions stockpiled, an arsenal, an armour
These are the days when I hate the world
Hate the rich, hate the happy, hate the complacent, the TV watchers,
beer drinkers, the satisfied ones
Because I know I can be all of those little hateful things
And then I hate myself for realising that
There is no preventative, directive or safe approach for living.
We each know our own fate
We know from our youth how to be treated,
how we'll be received and how we shall end
These things don't change.
You can change your clothes,
change your hairstyle, your friends, cities, continents
But sooner or later your own self will always catch up.
Always it waits in the wings.
Ideas swirl but don't stick,
They appear but then run off like rain on the windshield.
One of those rainy day car rides, my head implodes,
the atmosphere in this car a mirror of my skull
Wet, damp, windows dripping and misted with cold
Walls of grey
Nothing good on the radio
Not a thought in my head

Be safe

I know a place we can go where you'll fall in
love so hard that you'll wish you were dead.

Lets take life and slow it down incredibly slow
Frame by frame
With two minutes that take ten years to live out
Yeah, lets do that.

Telephone poles like praying mantis against the sky
Metal arms outstretched
So much land traveled, so little sense made of it
It doesn't mean a thing all this land laid out behind us
I'd like to take off into these woods and get good and lost for a while
I'm disgusted with petty concerns; parking tickets, breakfast specials
Does someone just have to carry this weight?
Abstract topography, methane covenant, linear gospel,
Nashville sales lady, Stygian emissary, torturous lice, mad Elizabeth

Chemotherapy *******.

The light within me shines like a diamond mine
Like an unarmed walrus
Like a dead man face down on the highway
Like a snake eating its own tail, steam turbine, frog pond,
too full a closet burst open in disarray
Soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed, red convertible,
shopping list, *******, deaths head, devils dancing,
bleached white buildings, memory, movements
The movie unpeeling, unreeling, about to begin

I've seen your hallway, you're a dark hallway
I hear your stairs creak
I can fix my mind on your yes, and on your no
I'll film your face today in the sparkling canals
All red, yellow, blue, green brilliance and silver Dutch reflection
Racing thoughts, racing thoughts
All too real, you're moving so fast now I cant hold your image
This image I have of your face by the window,
me standing beside you arm on your shoulder
A catalogue of images, flashing glimpses then gone again
I'm tethered to this post you've sunk in me
And every clear afternoon now I'll think of you up in the air twisting your heel,
Your knees up around me, my face in your hair
You scream so well, your smile so loud, still rings in my ears.

I know a place we can go where you'll fall in
love so hard that you'll wish you were dead

Inhibition,
Distant, tired of longing
Cleaning my teeth
Stay the course.
Hold the wheel
Steer on to freedom
Open all the boxes
Open all the boxes
Open all the boxes
Open all the boxes

Times Square midday
Newspaper buildings, news headlines going around
You watch as they go, and hope there's some good ones
Those tree shadows in the park they're all whispering shakes and leaves
Around six pm, shadows across the cobblestones
Girl in front of a bathroom mirror
she slow and careful paints her face green and mask like
Like Matisse' portrait
with green stripe
Long shot through apartment window, a monologue on top but no girl in shot
The light within me shines like a diamond mine
like an unarmed walrus
like a dead man face down on the highway
Like a snake eating its own tail
A steam turbine, frog pond, too full a closet burst open in disarray,
soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed, red convertible, shopping list,
*******, deaths head, devils dancing,
bleached white buildings, memory, movements
The movie unreeling, about to begin
''Be Safe' by The Cribs. This needs to be added for posterity. It is the work that set fire to my heart to create, myself.

https://youtu.be/iwZ4TTSKZWY?si=WdQ6D1oMrNna1Ci8
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.
badwords Dec 2024
Behold the altar, black as night,
Where liberty burns in the Devil’s light.
The gold-flecked smoke ascends the skies,
While freedoms drown in gilded lies.

The priest of profit lifts his hand,
“Come, kneel before the branded land!
Your worth is priced, your soul is weighed,
By what you’ve bought, and what you’ve paid.”

O hollow mass, whose hymns are sung,
By plastic tongues on iron lungs.
They chant of deals, of wealth divine,
While shadows stretch from neon shrines.

See how the cities crumble slow,
As towers rise where rivers flow.
The lambs consume; the wolves grow fat,
And grind the earth to dust for that.

No revolution stirs this crowd,
Their thoughts are trapped, their voices loud—
But only loud with empty cheer,
A choir of sheep, both deaf and near.

The sky once rang with sacred cries,
Now drones with ads and pixel lies.
What Blake called “mills” now churn unseen,
They harvest dreams through glowing screens.

And here we stand, our hearts resigned,
Our minds enslaved, our wills confined.
For each new gadget, sale, or spree,
We trade the truth for apathy.

Yet in the embers, still remains,
A seed of hope amid the chains.
For irony is sharp as steel,
And truth, when seen, begins to heal.

What if this madness masks a jest?
A riddle placed for us to test?
The path is clear—tear down the veil,
Let wolves no longer feast on sale.

Rise up, ye lions, claim the earth!
Let justice flame, let life rebirth!
No God shall save what we must mend,
No freedom comes we do not defend.
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 Dec 2024
Hemorrhaging out pain
Lonely disdain
badwords Feb 18
You snort at the sword, at the sabre’s grace,
Turn from the art of the strike, the feint—
Call it pretense, call it restraint,
but some beasts grunt where men engrain.

A boar’s tusk slashes, crude and mean,
quick as a thrash, dull as a scream.
It wins mud brawls, not campaigns,
leaves gashes, but never names.

You think the sword takes patience, fear?
That form is shackles, weight severe?
But steel that sings was forged to last,
and skill, not slop, makes deep wounds fast.

See, butchers love their brutal art,
blade to sinew, meat to cart.
A tusk, it tears, it ruts, it chews—
but lacks the hands for sharper use.

So charge fast, strike low, gore deep—
but tell me, when your blade runs steep,
did you sever thought from bone,
or only flail where swords are honed?
badwords Feb 2
Leaving the mirror feels like walking out of a shadow,
You try to piece together the fragments,
Accepting they will never mirror you again.
Some might say it’s your fault,
But it feels like walking through life
With a quiet strength where there once was emptiness.
Solitude.
Acceptance.
Self-compassion.
Growth.
Patienc­e.
Stillness.
Gratitude.
Understanding.
Trusting your own reflection.
No longer seeking validation,
No longer seeing yourself in others.
The image was false,
But the truth is clearer now,
The quiet voice that was always there,
Unshaken.
The grief fades—
Not gone, but transformed.

Strength.
Awareness.
A new beginning.
~for Ghost

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4968322/trauma-bond/

I wrote this in a style to mirror the framing of the original as closely as possible in solidarity for recounting my own experiences in a similar situation.


Broken Mirror explores the emotional journey of self-realization and healing following a toxic relationship. The poem reflects on the experience of losing a relationship that was built on validation rather than genuine connection, symbolized by the shattered mirror. The narrator, once dependent on external affirmation, finds themselves confronted with the stark emptiness left behind when that mirror is broken. As they struggle with feelings of solitude and grief, a quiet transformation begins, one that shifts from confusion to self-awareness.

Throughout the piece, the poem traces a movement from pain, isolation, and self-doubt toward acceptance, self-compassion, and ultimately empowerment. The narrative journey mirrors the internal process of healing, where the protagonist learns to stand on their own without relying on others for validation, embracing their true self amidst the fragments of the past. By the end of the poem, the narrator no longer seeks validation from external sources but instead discovers strength in their own reflection, marking the beginning of a new, more authentic chapter in their life.

The poet aims to capture the emotional complexity of a relationship defined by narcissistic dynamics, while also offering a hopeful perspective on self-reclamation. The poem invites readers to witness the pain of losing a validating reflection but also celebrates the transformative process of reclaiming one's true identity in the aftermath.
badwords Dec 2024
It’s a Friday night, Brock and I are at a small PokéMart near Pewter City called “The Ordinary PokéStop.” We’re nestled into a cozy little corner booth, the dim light glinting off the PokéBalls clipped to Brock’s belt. We’re waiting for Ash—who’s running late, as usual. This PokéMart is one of Brock’s favorites because of their “Berry Blends,” and his taste in exotic Poké-themed smoothies is as unpredictable as ever. Tonight, we’re sipping on “Miltank Malt,” a rich, creamy blend of MooMoo Milk and Oran Berries.

We’re on our second—and I’m starting to feel the sugar rush—did I mention Ash is running late? On a celebratory note, Brock finally perfected his recipe for “Rock Candy Rice Cakes,” and I just won my third straight battle at the Vermilion Gym with Magikarp in my lineup.

But more importantly, earlier today, I stopped by Mt. Moon and stumbled across something remarkable: a Moonstone. As soon as I picked it up, it seemed to hum faintly in my hand, like it was alive. I tucked it safely into my pack, but even now, I can feel its faint warmth.

So, we’re sitting there, sipping our drinks and sharing a basket of Poké Puffs when this guy walks in—a cool, scruffy Ace Trainer named Milo. He’s carrying a bottle of Soda Pop and wearing a slightly rumpled Team Rocket hoodie, which is either ironic or incredibly bold. He’s got that charming, disheveled look that you can’t quite trust.

At first, he’s just passing by, but then he stops and glances at us. “You wouldn’t happen to be Ash Ketchum’s crew, would you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” I reply casually, “Never heard of him.”
“You sure? You’ve got that whole underdog vibe,” he presses.
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I shrug.
“But Ash wouldn’t hang out in a dive like this,” he teases.
“Oh, yes he would,” Brock says, deadpan, not missing a beat.

Then it hits me—Milo was in the tournament Ash and I just watched in Celadon. “Wait—you were in that match against Erika’s gym team last week, weren’t you? Congrats on your big win!”
“Thanks for bringing that up,” Milo says dryly, a faint blush rising.
“We lost. Her Bellossom wiped us out—critical hits, all day. Total bad luck.”
“Bad luck,” Brock chuckles. “That’s one way to put it.”

Milo looks a little deflated, so I motion for him to take a seat. He slides in beside Brock, who offers him a cheerful nod. “Milo,” he says.
“I KNOW,” Brock says slyly. We’ve talked about him before—Brock thinks his battle strategy is solid, but his PokéFashion? Not so much.

“Do you believe in luck?” Milo asks suddenly, looking at both of us.
“Absolutely,” I reply, sitting up. “I mean, how else do you explain Magikarp getting a win? I always carry a lucky Moonstone with me—it’s way more reliable than, you know, strategy or training.”

“You have it on you now?” he asks, curious.
“Always,” I say, pulling it out of my pack and holding it up. The light catches the faint, shimmering surface.
“Does it really work?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, Magikarp won, didn’t it?” I joke, tucking it back in my bag. “Though I guess I’m living proof that luck is, uh, inconsistent.”

“Brock’s into luck, too,” I add, gesturing toward him.
“All breeders are superstitious,” Brock declares solemnly. “Back home, my sisters used to throw Clefairy dolls into the cave by Mt. Moon to ensure a good egg hatch.”
Milo laughs out loud, nearly choking on his Soda Pop. “And it worked, huh?” he says, smirking as he clinks his glass with Brock’s.
“We have a saying,” Brock adds with a knowing smile, “It’s better to have a lucky Magikarp than a perfect Gyarados.”

Just as Milo nods thoughtfully, agreeing with this ancient wisdom, Ash bursts through the doors, slightly out of breath. “You’ll never believe what Pikachu just did,” he announces. Typical Ash—always the center of the story.
What is fiction if not fan-fiction?

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4913441/for-luck/
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
badwords Feb 2024
We have Dollar$
But, no sense
New Ep,, Holler
Existence

I hear the words
outside
Buy birds
Hide

Chemicals, down
The release
Reality, drown
Pain ceased

Anaesthetized
Feel, well
What a surprise
Static Hell
badwords Dec 2024
Given, another chance
Failure, 'circumstance'
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.
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!
badwords Nov 2024
I bleed out for people
Who like to swim.
I enjoyed the conciseness of this write. After reflecting upon it later, 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.

Next:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4926504/luck/
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 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'
badwords Dec 2024
A careful hand, threading tracks like beads—
Each song a thread, a whisper's need.
A heart's collage of static noise,
Crafted hopes, hushed joys and poise.

The clack of play, the tape unwinds,
A story spooled in stops and binds.
“Listen,” it pleads, though words are few,
This mix, this bridge, from me to you.

In loops and fades, confessions spun,
The things unsaid, yet softly sung.
A borrowed voice, an unseen tear,
Echoes bound by magnetic smear.

Pressed to palm, the gift exchanged,
A quiet pact, a world arranged.
Between the hiss, in tapes grown worn,
A fleeting now, forever sworn.
Check out my HePo mixtape:

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/

A soundscape in words, lyrics and music that have shaped my writing.
badwords Apr 2024
The sounds enrapture us
Quite the downstairs fuss
She seeks to move free
Remedial dance academy

We cross paths
So infrequently
Employment maths
Romantic delinquency

We 'stay up late'
Passion won't abate
Four on the floor
We must dance more

She spins and
It's my turn
She takes my hand
My heart does yearn

We play beats of yesteryear
No worries, no fear
Of what is outside control
Just, dancing & rock n' roll

The alarm goes off
Tired, we both scoff
Into snooze we cruise
The obligatory fiscal abuse

And we dance into the night
In our minds, out of sight
Mental music pollution
Survival, solution

We finally are one
Tired, undone
Relentless, we won
Our tiny modicum
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
badwords Jun 2023
Dazzled, bewitched, betwixt
Your attention is clearly affixed
To  fantasy, a dream--a non-reality
This sad thing you see as me

But, I love you as you are
Although, your dreams take you far
Away into the distance
Illusion believed as instance

Beauty decried by the blind
Have regard for those left behind-
Sight intoxicating
Left waiting,

And wanting; more


It's just a door!
But, you adore

A projection
Of a reflection

Of what you can't keep inside
The elephant you cannot hide


But, it's just a door!
A portal into possibility
You're wanting more
And never question what you seek

In this hallway
there are many doors
It's easy to run away
And simply choose one that is 'ours'

But, we must question our periphery
Understand not all is what we see
We must find Love internally
Before professing it eternally;
"To truly love another--first, I must love me"
It's been awhile! Here's another one from my closet of failure-shame. Again, I have no means of pinpointing whence this was a **** on the world but, take a gawk and have a well-deserved laugh at a dad in crocs-n-socks!

This relates a turning point in a considerably long-term-relationship of mine some time ago (dating conventions for your work are very helpful (and! auto-biographical!)). Without regard, it didn't work out but, good friends are nice things to have even when souls do not mate.

Ultimately, this piece possesses that quintessential 'me-vibe' that I had from time unrecorded; the structure is clunky and the prose is ham-******. It so eagerly tries to be meaningful but, get lost in the sauce. I can appreciate it as a rest stop on the journey I pursue.

Thank you for reading <3
badwords Nov 2024
Amid the clamor of self-assured minds,
Where the knowing parade their truths refined,
A quieter echo hums, profound and true:
The wisdom of those who confess, "I don't know."

Socrates walked where shadows spoke,
Challenging sages with questions that broke
The fragile veneer of their certain lore—
Truth's light reveals we know far less, not more.

To claim "I know" is to build a wall,
A citadel guarding knowledge small.
Yet cracks appear where hubris reigns,
And truth escapes through humility's pains.

The unknowing few, with open eyes,
Gaze past the clouds of prideful lies.
They ask, they doubt, they sift, they weigh,
In search of dawn where night holds sway.

Euthyphro claims divinity's hand,
Yet falters when truths shift like sand.
Crito pleads for escape to the day,
But justice demands the law's heavy sway.

Phaedo weeps at the prison’s gate,
Yet Socrates drinks the hemlock of fate.
In questions that turn the soul to flame,
The unknowing walk a nobler aim.

To know is to cease, to doubt is to grow;
The river flows where the winds dare blow.
For wisdom, dear friends, begins to take flight
Not in the sun, but in yearning for light.
Another one spun in a mutual dialog.
badwords Jan 2023
Cutting it down to the wire
An unreciprocated desire

Destroy.

When I don't want to think
Have another drink

Destroy.

It hurts to be alive
No reason to survive

Destroy.

I write the word
It looks alien
No distance heard
Just fail again

Destroy.

No time to hide
Just imbibe
Secrets to confide
A lonely ride

Destroy.

Now I am dead
Everything to forget
Nothing read
A sunrise, a sunset

Destroyed.
badwords Sep 2024
It crawls
It stalls
It falls

Truth, buried deep
Lucid, asleep
Answers to keep
A journey, steep

Reverse time
Unwound rhyme
Lies to dine
Answers to find

It's there, everything you seek
These obfuscations reek
Behind the expressions of the meek
A spectacle, disillusion the weak

Dig
Dig
Dig

It's there, just waiting
Truth, casually abating
Under a pile of consecrating
The explanation not stating

So close
So lost

Go deeper!
I can't say more
If there were a place being policed and monitored, one would need to be subversive in how they communicate...
badwords Dec 2024
Hope, is a shovel, it's digs holes.
Love is a conquest out of control.
Grace, station of not losing face.
Joy, the toy, running in place.
Peace, the subscribed feast.
Small people, doing their least.
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 Aug 2024
She's up there again.
Where do I even begin?

A blanket, a keyboard.
Scratching, I abhorred.

The life of a kitten.
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.

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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.

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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.
badwords Dec 2022
We all depart
What is the taboo?
"A broken heart"?
"What you can't do"?

Meanings many
But, not yours
Another penny
Master's chores

Fill on pills
Another zombie
Subscribe for thrills
"I can to be"

There's a demon inside
That we can't hide
Validation-high
Wonder why...

The emptiness
Eats us inside

The strings
Cumbersome
Playthings
To those who've 'won'

It's just a game
Medicate
Product's aim
Dollars wait
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