Fucking Shit Heck

Some people will swear at,
And say swear words and poetry don’t mix.
Well I say fuck that,
And fuck those little shits
Who say cursing is wrong.

Cursing is beautiful.
Some people are awestruck,
When in a poetic crucible
I throw an asshole, big dick, or bumfuck.
With my words, I’ll stay strong.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong,
With using a bad word.
It’s not like they came from a bottle or bong;
Rather from my mind in thirds.
The world is where they belong.

I can feel them inside this long ass train,
Where the air outside is pure,
And it never seems to rain.
Fuck is a stewardess helping me endure
A ride that’s evidently lifelong.

My head presses against the glass
Hoping when I get off I find happiness.
Oh, the joy of getting off my existential ass.
Until then, Melancholy’s like held in piss.
Hopefully soon he realizes happiness was inside all along.


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