#absurdity
Life is building statues out of sand and worshipping them, yet we find ourselves in the desert. The material of our gods clings to our knees when we rise from prostration, grains lodged beneath our fingernails quietly betraying the facade we build for ourselves. The figures slowly sink; what was once angelically beautiful becomes grotesque, collapsing under its own weight back into dust. The desert waits patiently for us to shape another, an endless cycle of destitute attempts to extract meaning from what cannot hold it. Each new figure stands taller than the last, as if stature alone might grant survival. Still, each returns to the desert from which it came. When we reach down to gather more sand and find it risen past our ankles, we understand that we too will return to the desert. In the end, you are your final masterpiece. It has all become both home and final resting place.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 2:05 PM UTC
My dear,
you’re a lime. I’m a cherry.
My dear,
& I like your chest hairy…
My dear,
I’ve got sand in my throat…
My dear,
Would you take this poem home?
My dear,
Your tan skin and warm eyes….
(He’s mine, and I think I’m gonna die)
My dear,
I’ve got years left to grow….
Oh dear,
I think I got your email wrong.
Subject: Please disregard!
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 9:09 PM UTC
I woke from a dream this morning
with three penises
and three sets of testicles
sprouting from my groin
I was astonished
wondering about the implications
could they all perform?
could I have *** with three women?
or three men?
which gender did these penises prefer?
and how would that work?
or would I be too embarrassed by this mutation to ever have *** again?
I imagined a hand touching down there and felt
extreme embarrassment
no, this was definitely the end of my *** life
I would never have *** again
then something shifted
in my mind
and I woke
from THAT dream
original factory settings restored (I checked)
relieved (so relieved)
this was one problem the universe had not thrown in my lap (haha)
I can still see those tiny peckers though
like a bouquet of newborn masculinity
what high jinks
are going on
at the bottom of the ocean in my brain?
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 9:46 AM UTC
The Binary Prayer
In pews where sermons drone on repeat,
Two genders march in binary beat.
“Male or female,” the pastor asserts,
While the platypus smirks beneath his quirks.
The peacocks flaunt, the seahorses dance,
Nature's kaleidoscope shatters their stance.
Yet in Sunday’s bulletin, all is confined,
To dolls for daughters and trucks for their kind.
Oh, to see an androgynous angel sway,
Would surely ruin a righteous day.
But look to the skies, where seraphim spin—
Wheels of fire care not for sin.
The Pronoun Patrol
With grammar books clutched and verses in tow,
The Pronoun Patrol strikes a puritan blow.
“They/them is a heresy!” their leaders implore,
“Stick to he or she—nothing more!”
In coffee shops and hymnals alike,
They rewrite songs with fervent spike.
"God Rest Ye Merry, Cis-Men," they sing,
Missing the gospel in the joy it could bring.
For Trinity lovers, oh what a twist,
The paradox they cannot resist.
But "they" for a neighbor? A bridge too far.
How small their heavens and shrinking star.
The Gay Agenda (A Stationery Set)
Beware the binders, the glitter, the cheer,
The "gay agenda" they say, draws near!
With brunch as its weapon and joy as its creed,
It threatens their world with unstoppable speed.
Pastors decry this rainbowed parade,
While envying the sparkles their sermons evade.
“Why can't our Easters have this much pizzazz?”
They mutter while clinging to their tarnished brass.
The gay agenda’s truth, if you dare peek,
Is rights, acceptance, and brunch once a week.
A life filled with love, not casseroles wed,
Is the fear that keeps their dogma fed.
Fear and Flexibility
Downward Dog is a slippery slope,
To promiscuity and losing all hope.
Yoga mats lead to the Devil’s abyss—
Who knew Pilates could spawn such bliss?
Their temples are holy, or so they preach,
Yet under renovation, with signs: “Do not breach.”
No touching, no joy, no exploring your shrine,
For freedom in Christ must walk a fine line.
Abstinence rings gleam like halos above,
But guilt and repression sour young love.
The irony burns, a puritan plight,
That their rules breed the chaos they seek to fight.
Love the Sinner, Hate the Rainbow
“Love the sinner,” they say with a grin,
While barring the doors and fencing the sin.
Rainbows reduced to two lonely hues,
As God shakes His head, bemused by their views.
Yet even in stained-glass exclusion they stay,
LGBTQ+ saints find another way.
Prayer circles bloom with love unrestrained,
A spectrum of faith unshackled, unchained.
The spectrum’s beauty lies in its blend,
Infinite colors that never end.
A covenant crafted in radiant hue,
A reminder that God’s love is ever new.
The Gospel According to Glitter
Oh, rigid faithful, with black-and-white creed,
Your rules cannot bind love’s vibrant seed.
For God’s light refracts in myriad rays,
Beyond the confines of your binary gaze.
So wave the flag, and lift your voice,
In a faith unshackled, let all rejoice.
For in the spectrum, there’s space for all,
A love that’s boundless, a divine call.
Amen to the glitter, the joy, and the jest,
May satire’s spark ignite hearts at rest.
For the gospel of love, in all its hues,
Is brighter than fear, and always renews.
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 7:17 PM UTC
"
The light we dread on the path we tread,
Scorched by the morals we misuse.
Misread the darkness, our hearts distressed,
Mocked by the values we choose,
Led astray by the prophecies of disharmony.
Heralds of the Righteous, deaf to hideous cries,
Sombre pleas linger, unseen in the abyss.
Angels seek refuge in hell from our treachery,
Watching disdainfully the absurdity we create,
While Demons, now praying for salvation,
Witness the tragic fall of humanity.
Instruments of war masquerade as peace,
Tormenting the innocent’s fragile ease.
A nation built on unity’s roar,
Now silenced by the lies of the false majority,
As citizens, evicted by leaders once upheld,
Fall victim to the very mother they served.
The tranquil ocean of individuals,
Swept away by the puddle of atrocities.
The gavel of justice hammers the innocent,
While the illustrious clowns, adorned in lustrous lies, roam free.
As avatars of Themis fall to Eris' tempting kiss,
Our heroes, once righteous, now stab us in the back with monarchic bliss.
While the poor laugh abundantly at their chains,
The rich weep for sovereignty that wanes.
Failure is the epitome of success,
While schools terrify us to death,
Teaching the race between ending a valuable life
And the finish line of a hollow diploma.
Yet in hallowed halls, they preach dismay,
As arguments and debates suffocate the air,
In this world already choked by toxic despair.
The masks of leadership conceal deceit,
As false ideals march beneath victory's flag.
And when the hands that build also destroy,
Philosophy, once pure and guiding,
Now teaches Angels the art of demonology.
"
-Klausyuer: The ****** Poet
Oct 9, 2024
Oct 9, 2024 at 8:41 PM UTC
The idea that our founding fathers intended anyone over 18 to possess enough firepower to destroy the entire continental army of 1776 is absurd, arrogate and dangerous.
#repealthe2ndamendment
Jun 8, 2022
Jun 8, 2022 at 2:25 PM UTC
We're wordsmiths forging a masterpiece
Perception's the brush to our mastery
Phrases sculpted like chiseled marble
with Michelangelo's dexterity
times' thoughts struggle to translate to poetry
& ideologies unleash your inner lunatic
But as Picasso proved, with his absurd canvas
Even confusion could be artistry!
The world's preposterous afterall
Its Interpretations come from the cardiac
& psychosis is better than normalcy
I'm fine sounding like
A dyslexic graphomaniac.
Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 1:49 AM UTC
___FLUFF:___
_Frequently, I discover words with hidden meaning, shining like coins in a handful of fluff, apple seeds and other down-the-back-of-the-sofa leavings. Some are too precious to share and I secrete them away. Others I spend cheaply on rigged slot machine verbiage. Mostly they sit waiting to be written usefully. Adding insight, lending moment to my day._
§
___NONSENSE:___
_Foraging amongst the dahlias
For Cinderella’s lost slipper,
I am Barbie magic made manifest,
I am Germaine (sodding) Greer’s antifem,
I am Super Mum with gumboots on._
§
___ABSURDITY:___
_The best nonsense is always spoken in the middle of the afternoon while heading north on a train bound for a smallish beige town, and so it was that the occupants of second-class carriage BG1754 found themselves gripped by a kind of eloquent hysteria as they rattled around the final bend in the tracks before the steep descent to the weatherboard station at Claggy Peat._
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 3:51 AM UTC
so last night i was kicking rocks at reality-
trying to flip the entire universe like a pancake
but the moon laughed at my fruitless toil
for the universe exists in paradox-
and in my night watch
i dug into the soil
and ended up on the shoulders
of our planet
watching
her inhabitants try to make sense
of imperceptible subjects
such as why
who has sealed
all things within her palms
to bar philosophers
who have made gods of reason
i dare to worship
existence-
to be smothered in the
beauty of what is
and is
with or without description.
and so i look inward to quest(ions)
which are themselves, answers-
as i am a universe.
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 10:11 PM UTC
Say it to me, baby,
that you want me—still—
after all that I've done to you,
and only.
I hear you breathing out hot
—lying flattened on the cold floor—
even after the hard bruisin'
you've gone through—swell, sure it was.
And I wrecked such havoc on you
all because I care for you,
nothing more, nothing less.
I beat you up swell
to get you in a better shape
just like a sculptor
beating his stone
into the shape of David—bare naked.
I'm modern Michelangelo, so to say,
and I want you
to whisper to me
that you crave me,
that you desire still
such tyranny of mine
even more. So just say it,
for your perfection
and a sheer thrill that follows
—all these right at our hands—are so close.
Wicked as it is,
my whispering to you demands it.
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 9:38 PM UTC
y'all am racist
cuz y'all is not non-racist
racism was intersect autonomy
defund my peoples NOW!
we is demand are immediate
you is no privilege
to tell we who am people of colors
y'all shut UP!
(long stream of angry expletives...)
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 8:28 AM UTC
I shoved the absurdity into the woodpile
The fire was crackling and raging
Licking the bottom of the *** that is already worn
Demons and ghosts and phantoms of people who went crazy are dancing inside
Why are you moving it, how tiring!
The cat in the room asked
Why don't you join us, how stupid!
Red ***** on the chopping board asked
No, I said, no
I used ridiculousness to pile firewood higher
The fire will not go out in nine hundred and ninety-one days
I'm going to use this fire to cook, bathe and change clothes
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 9:55 AM UTC
Why should you study?
And persevere? And listen?
And write? For people--
For the people you'll see, for there are just
few you'll. And still fewer among them, who
will be around to see you.
In a makeshift heaven of this world,
This world fits right in- not without gaps,
Not the best close-packing ever.
Which lets you think and shift the pieces forever.
Not at all exciting, if you want to
See it that way. But do you have a choice--
Except all the the ones you haven't tried
already? Hinged to the far side of moon
You might be, but wither you'll soundlessly
off this grand tree. So a fair chance there is
you might see, where this is going and realize soon: You won't know if science has advanced, You won't know if you've made enough amends, You won't know anything
except for the people you'll see, even what they've to say, you've to understand.
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 10:17 AM UTC
How did I get here?
Did I build this place?
I'm on the highest cliff
Gazing down towards the skyline
The skyscrapers move like trains
Bound for regions unknown
Do they ever stop?
Where do they end up?
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 10:12 PM UTC
Oh, Shadowmare,
I ride on your back,
please charge forward for god's sake.
Hopping over squares like a maniac,
oh please,
you're making me giddy alright.
Only at the outpost,
will you be satisfied,
horsing around playing mind games.
On the hill,
the enemy in fear, asking,
what's the stallion doing up here.
Soon the enemy king choked,
and died of a heart attack,
We won the war,
after all.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:04 PM UTC
I can picture pumpkin rain
Falling from October’s sky
Even wisemen dare to try
Reason’s gambrels to enchain
Though,
When this pulp falls on the leaves
And by liters floods the streets
We shall dance under these drops
While we sing grotesque swift songs
I can picture pumpkin rain
Falling from October’s sky
We no longer can remain
Dry
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:11 AM UTC
Basking in the same star hardly makes souls familiar,
It takes time, sometimes even lives,
Yet familiarity becomes a curse 'tis that souls depart
And all depart- some by death, some by hatred, the omni-vice,
So I sit where I'll be free from too much of familiarity
No one to wave, no one to read out loud the epitaph of my eyes,
Unknown crowd is a bliss- the first mother one ever cherishes,
Covered on the lap velvety ******* the milk of possibility
Yet be carefree to the cruelty of a union resulting into solidity.
The star revolves- crowd thickens and familiarity lessens,
Unless, one joins even bigger crowd,
O harbinger of equity! Talk the same tongue, dressed in the same shroud,
All the same space, all the same meat, same journey, all equally proud,
Worms too rule like the ruler who did justice to his throne,
So familiar on this top, I'm one jump away from home.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 12:43 PM UTC
You shout at the void
and wait for the echo
but like a duck's quack
nothing comes back
(why is the duck not quacking)
I cannot hear it though
I know its beak is moving
And we keep shouting
at the day
A duck quacks back
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 11:25 AM UTC
Absurdity
is as throwing
a fork at a banana,
Giving them nicknames
And a narrative and calling
the event a Funeral, for
every banana that's
Never made it out
Alive o'cafeteria
Sorry I gave
mundane-
twisted !
a me- O
aning B
as my a
lyfe n
ho a
lds n
nun A Justyn Huang
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC