Thursday, 10 July 2025

Don't You Dare Poetry

If you’ve got nothing new to say,

shut the fuck up.



Stop pretending pain is rare.

Stop acting like sadness makes you sacred.

You picked up a pen,

dressed your wounds in filters,

and called it art.


But that’s not truth —

that’s performance.

And you’re not honest —

you’re just well-lit.


You’re not expressing.

You’re recycling.

You’re flogging dead metaphors

for cheap dopamine

and manufactured sympathy.


You’re all singing

the same fucking song —

a hundred different ways,

with a hundred different faces.


The faces change.

The grammar upgrades.

The rhythm sometimes snaps.

But the content?

Still the same three-chord misery

looped into infinity.


Same heartbreak.

Same daddy issues.

Same copy-paste grief

you keep performing

like trauma’s a brand endorsement.


You say “I found my voice”

but somehow,

it sounds like everyone else’s.


You pick up heartbreak

and sell it like fast food.

You pick up darkness

and sell it like halogen lights.

You pick up parenthood

and sell it like religion.

You pick up self-love

and sell delusion.


You pick up patriarchy

and sell misdirected hatred for men.

You pick up feminism

and sell candy floss and rainbows

to the same girls who still ask permission

to wear rage in public.


How long will you keep selling lies

when your only job

was to speak the truth—

even if it breaks

every bone in your body

one poem at a time?


How long will you pimp hope

like it’s a pharmaceutical,

peddling “light at the end of the tunnel”

just so the broken romantics

can keep dreaming?


Isn’t that false advertising?


Because if lying to fuck someone

is a crime,

how is lying about life

to sedate strangers

and keep them hooked

any less abusive?


You're not a poet

and that's not poetry.

You're a narcotic peddler

specialising in synthetic adrenaline.

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