I’m sure all of HePo--and perhaps the greater ecosystem of the entire internet has felt a disturbance in ‘The Forced’—alas this disconcerting  malaise is not without warrant. With everything going on in the world—it is hard to ignore the great global unsettling.

Let’s cut to what we know—the facts; the world is on fire, the sounds of sixteen hooves tearing us with fire into what may be the end times deafen our ears daily—dogs and cats living together!

THE ENEMY:

Yes! To the point! There have indeed been fewer badwords to hold your delicate collective psyche together with staples. This is true and I apologize! My life is taking me in a new direction and I am going to go with the flow instead of exhausting myself trying to tread water in place. I am pursuing an education in teaching English—to share the badwords across these thirsty worlds! I will also be traveling abroad in pursuit of this endeavor.

Unfortunately, I will be backing this investment with a large amount of the free time I can no longer contribute here.

I think you see where this is going…

I have a few more works that I have slated to be published here. However, I unfortunately won’t have the time to be as active as I would like. I am going to shift what energy I can contribute to continuing to support you lovely gluttons for punishment who have voluntarily subjected yourselves to badwords as well as champion HePo as a bastion of free speech, expression, acceptance and even sometimes healing.

The sun isn’t going down, it’s just an illusion caused by the world spinn’round...

I love this community and I look forward to bringing you the best badwords that you deserve!

To Everyone,
Kocham Cię—Stay tuned!

badwords

We were young, and the lights were out,
Spinning rooms and turning heads.
The last great generation—blooded hearts,
Passions born not of screen, but skin.
We longed, we loved, we lived—
Lifted to the highest plane,
With music and flesh as our true witness.
Those times were more than murmured whispers—
We were real, we were true,
Visceral tombs to the last great time for all.

Tom LeFort 2025

Why after calling me handsome
And declaring me so much fun

Is the question I have to ask

Why did she not return?

As I wrestle with reality
Where did I go wrong?

I gave her space , thoughtfulness
I showed her warmth, respect and care
I demonstrated humor lightness and fun
I brought interest, intelligence - even independence

I held a place both safe and free
That I could hold but did not grasp
That could revere but did not cling
A place where something special
Could be grown.

So again I have to ask
Where did I go wrong?

But after a dark and stormy night
I wake up light and see

Yes
The truth is
I was all of those things
And I poured them richly
abundantly and joyfully

The truth is

I Shone

TOO BRIGHT

There once lived a one eyed girl who had twenty twenty vision
she used her imagination each time she turned on the television

One peeper would sleep while the other one looked and looked
through a slit she did perceive each dream her mind had booked

Viewing the world from an angle of one hundred and fifty degrees
her reverie was safely tucked inside an eye of healthful protease

A whimsy girl that she was with a soul that always gave thanks
in a dress of Eiffel Towers, one eye saw the other drew blanks

Monocular hallucination, she'd often see things that weren't there
and when she saw something she liked she'd pluck it out of the air

Visualization of the highest order, fluid as the wild Pacific Ocean
creating pure fantasy with one eye open, as the other one slept.

There was once a child
born beneath the sign
of unburial.

She carried too much—
not in arms
but in tethered memory.
Things with no names,
only weights.

A cracked watch
that ticked in reverse.
A button from a coat
that no one had worn
in three generations.

A feather
from a bird
dreamt once
by her grandmother,
never seen again.

She believed—
as those marked by absence do—
that keeping meant remembering,
and remembering meant
nothing would vanish.

Others crossed her path,
offered to help unfasten the straps.
She refused.
They did not know
which talismans bled
and which only looked like wounds.

So she walked.
Through salt seasons,
through bone-rattling frost,
through forests with no floor
and skies that never asked her name.

The bag grew heavier.
She grew cleverer.
Silent.

And then—
on a day that wasn’t special,
under a sun that wasn’t kind—
she set it down.
Not as surrender.
As an experiment.

The earth did not crack.
The ghosts did not scatter.
Her shadow did not abandon her.

She sifted the contents.
Some were dust.
Some were still singing.
Some curled away like dried petals
and begged to be left behind.

She took a key.
She took the bell.
She left the rest
for the moss.

She walked on.

Not lighter, exactly—
but less governed
by the shape
of her grief.

I didn’t want to fall apart mid-sentence,
So I said less and asked more questions.
Tuned out love songs, skipped our street —
I made avoiding you look complete.

I smile and nod when your name is mentioned,
As if it doesn't pull me out of the conversation
They throw it around casually, like it's not cutting right through —
I guess I never got to cry out about you.