This poem contains adult
language and is the opinion of the author.
The language of anger is made up of words
some donít like to hear. But I donít give a f**k
if you donít want to hear it. When I feel like a b**ch
then you better g*d-d**n
get out of my way. Otherwise the s**t
will hit the fan and my hate
will spew far and wide. I hate
it when someone tells me not to use four-letter words.
Canít they count? S**t,
not all foul words are four letters. Yeah, f**k
is, but what about b*st**d and g*d-d**n?
Listen, you son of a b**ch,
if I want to use foul language, I will. Go b**ch
at someone worth b**ching at. Take your hate
and turn it on someone who g*d-d**n
deserves your hate. Iíll use the words
I choose when I choose. You can f**k
off and leave me alone, you little s**t.
Yes, I know. S**t
is another word for defecate. And b**ch
for a female dog. And I like to f**k
my girlfriend whenever I can. But I hate
being censored, hate being told what words
I can and cannot use. G*d-d**n,
will you leave me alone? Go to g*d-d**n
hell and take your s**t
with you. These are only words
you have saddled with foul meaning. I know Iím a b**ch
and I donít care. I hate
feeling I have to bite my tongue. F**k
it all over and over again. F**k
your censoring lips and g*d-d**n
your heartless harping. You wear your hate
like a badge but I donít give a s**t
what you think. Tell another b**ch
how to think, what to say, what words
are acceptable and which, like f**k, are not. S**t
and g*d-d**n are words this b**ch
likes to use. I hate being censored. They are only words.
All content ©Glenda Poulter, 2012-2014.