This poem was also processed into a song, the lyrics are not 100% matching the poem as verses are too long for a song buuuut you have a half surprise on this one: I recorded my voice for Suno.ai and it claims to have used it when producing this song. I do hate my voice and cannot guarantee to this claim :)) but try it out!
You were born with ninety-nine problems
bills that bite and dreams that die
a heart too small for the world around you
no one loves you, wonder why?
But it's the hundredth that consumes you
the one that keeps you up at night
who uses which bathroom, who dares to love whom
who gave her permission to fight?
Smile more, what's in your pants
why aren't you nicer, I'm a nice guy
you police their kisses, their names, their bodies
you call it tradition, but it's a lie.
Homophobe, you lose sleep over two men kissing,
like their joy is a personal theft from your lonely bed.
You call it “unnatural” while your hate festers.
You scream “protect the family”
but the only thing breaking is your grip
on a world that never needed your permission.
But secretly you watch lesbian porn like a kinky sin.
Transphobe, you fixate on the mirror some dare to change,
on hormones and names and bodies finally becoming home.
You patrol the stalls like a scared soldier,
terrified someone might find relief in their skin,
while you rot in the body you were handed,
never learned to question,
and no one learned to love.
Sexist, you measure every woman by how small she makes herself,
how quiet, how breeding, how pleasing to your fragile ego.
You want her barefoot, pregnant, and grateful,
you want her competition to serve you,
you want her fire dimmed
so your tiny flame looks bright.
So you neg her, and you criticize, and you
let her know of all the tiny ways she fails in your eyes.
Three masks, one face, same red hat,
fear dressed up as tradition,
insecurity wearing God’s name,
control pretending to be morality.
You police people’s kisses,
transitions, ambitions, positions,
their very right to take up space
in their own life without apology.
This fear, it is a hungry thing.
This fear, it gnaws at your gut,
a constant, dull ache.
This fear, it makes you small,
makes you shrivel,
makes you see monsters where there are only mirrors.
This fear, it is the same fear.
The same brittle cage.
The same desperate need to control
what is not yours to hold.
Are you really afraid or just
a fucking stalker?
Meanwhile everyone else
is out here, loving without shame,
becoming without permission,
rising without asking you a thing.
We turn your 100th problem into dust on the floor.
We dance on the graves of your rigid rules.
We build families you can’t define,
lives you can’t control,
bodies you can’t categorize,
and we do it without asking you a thing.
Thank you for reading my work!
Hi, I’m Nicole. You can read here a bit about myself! I write poems when I’m angry, fiction when I’m hopeful, and essays or dystopias when I’m paying attention.
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I am a published writer. Curriculum of Feelings is a haunting, six-part journey that spans centuries and species, a visceral exploration of the “Problem of Evil.”
Through a collection of short stories, you follow five distinct vessels: a poetess silenced by her world, a slave who finds freedom in language, a tree that witnesses history’s worst acts, a whale carrying a dying song, and a boy tracking a collapsing future. Each life is a lesson in humility, humanity, and pain.
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Send the poem to the Department of War.
" insecurity wearing God's name " - I'd say that that covers it. Fear - based politics & religion courtesy of Sanctimonious Christofascist hypocrites. I have some in my family, more's the pity...