This Poem is Unmarketable

Also posted on my Substack. I did not plagiarize the poem.

Apparently, my writing is unmarketable...

It's not pleasing to the algorithms,

And makes companies uncomfortable.

/

Hmm, that's funny,

I don't remember asking your fucking permission,

To write and post all my thoughts and feelings,

I don't need your go-ahead to say what I'm thinking.

/

You think I give a fuck about your bottom line?

You think your profits are more important than Palestine?

Do you really think nothing about a genocide,

As long as your paycheck arrives on time?

/

Writing your little songs about photographs,

How about a photograph of school children getting attacked?

You can't say two words because of strings attached?

You're not an auteur, you're a bitch letting the leeches latch.

/

Not looking so pink in the face anymore...

Your pale skin matches mine, what are you grandstanding for?

There's allyship and then there's siding with the genocidal folk.

The wrong side of history is paved with corpses on the road.

/

All you middle-lining Democrats sitting on the fence...

Quit pretending you can reason with that bespeckled, brownnosing bitch.

Maybe another filibuster will change things, Hakeem...

Or maybe y'all do your fucking jobs and end this regime!

/

I'm tired of people avoiding words that aren't profanity...

To pander to advertising algorithms with no ounce of humanity.

A fucking AI chat bat almost caused World War fucking 3...

And you want to call me a Luddite and order me to bend the knee.

/

We don't fucking need AI, we need clean drinking water...

We don't fucking need AI, we need clean air and billiionaires slaughtered.

We don't fucking need AI, we need afforable housing and healthcare that doesn't suck!

We don't fucking need AI,, we need a government who gives more than fuck!

/

I'm not gonna train my AI replacement...

I'm gonna bury your robot dogs in my goddamn basement.

I'm gonna fuck your wife and give her all your money.

You have all these AI, get one of them to fuck you, honey.

/

Hey, Mr. President, you want your name on something?

How about a landfill full of dirty diapers, will that please you, pumpkin?

How about you fuck off with your Eva Braun,

Have a cyanide cocktail with a loaded gun,

The day you finally have your last nap,

Is the day that starts the liberation.