Drop the Bomb and Let It Burn: Ode to the F-Word. {poetry}


{Warning: Quite a f*cking few F-bombs are launched herein.}

A recent reminder encouraged me to be silly.
Next I knew, my pen went all willy-nilly
and kept cursive writing the funny word Fuck.
Then I wandered into wonder
as to why is it such a blunder
to utter this one word.
When it comes to dropping this bomb,
truth be told, I do it with aplomb.
It makes me feel more Zen
time and time again.

To me, it seems dramatically absurd
to think that this funny little word
can cause such a fucking fuss
and stir up so raucous a ruckus,
or that it holds so much weight.
It’s not linked to hate,
prejudice, violence or such.
I can’t decipher why some care so fucking much.

Now when it comes to words that truly matter
on topics of race, color, creed, or stature
I am most careful of the above
and choose words guided by love.
My intent is not to offend
regarding anything that matters in the end,
and I take care to not make a breach
through ignorance of speech.

I am keen to not demean
for that is what is in my heart
and always where I start.
As for those who drop their bombs without grace,
hurling insults in someone’s face?
Fuck! Mean people do indeed suck.

Let’s get this straight:
My language is not rooted in hate.
So why in the fuck would it matter
if I drop an F-bomb or two?
What in the fuckin’ fuck is the big ado?

Now, when little ones are on the scene?
My language is immaculate. Pristine.
That stipulation becomes a way
of bringing mindfulness to each word I say.
F-bombs become a tool
of my own mindfulness school.
I keep to heart this one rule:
If I can see a child,
my language remains mild.
When around adults?
Different results.

At times I curse like a sailor.
For fuck’s sake,
when I’ve had all I can take
I choose not to be my own jailer
of censoring every fucking word.
To those prim and proper rules?
I give the bird.
At times it makes me delirious
to be so fucking serious.
The gatekeeper releases
a cathartic F-bomb, and my stress decreases.

There are times when what most matters
is that we don’t end up Mad as Hatters.
To this end,
I swear, my friend,
hurling a Fuck
through the swirling muck
leaves me feeling less depressed
and certainly alleviates stress.

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it twice,
and now I’ll say it thrice:
Lesser words just don’t always suffice.
Plus, its sound is really quite cute.
What if all the hubbub is moot
and we could actually raise the vibration
of our elation
with some gusto
and spice?
If you must know,
it feels quite nice.

So, I may drop verbal bombs, the likes of which
make others bitch.
Those others may say Damn, which just isn’t my jam.
Shit? Not really a hit.
Shite? Not quite right.
Piss? Rather amiss.
Bloody? Kinda cruddy…
unless you’re a Brit, and then that word’s the shit!
But, I’m not… so Fuck is what I got.
Fuck simply does the job.
I don’t wish to rob
myself of the joy of blowing off steam.
Fuck simply works like a dream!

Does this one sound
make me a woman of ill repute?
This claim, I dispute.
Allay your fears.
I’ve been saying it for years
and my composure would astound.
No reputation need be guttered
should this funny word be uttered.

As for the claim that Fuck is oft used by those
lacking the creativity to express themselves well?
Aww, hell!
Let it be known
I wrote those naysayers an entire fucking poem!
It may not always rhyme.
Fuck! Is that another crime?

For those who prefer more decorum,
the words I use? They deplore ’em.
While they turn up their noses
I wonder what they suppose is
the harm that can be done
or why they want to run
from this one funny word.
What the feckin’ feck?
They risk a stiff neck
with their posture not in check.
Their stance is really quite cumbersome,
the curmudgeonliness so lumbersome.
So much levity they miss out on by so posifuckingtutely
shunning this word so resolutely.

Perhaps if they’d just cuss
they’d stop making such a fuss
and cease getting their knickers in a twist.
Next thing? They’ve missed
the ball in the grand hall
at the end of Fuckworthington Lane.
What a fucking shame.
Maybe if they’d just curse
they could release the purse
of their lips between sips
of high tea
with a side of holier than me.

There are more important things to worry about.
Let’s not give ourselves a roundabout
but give ourselves a chance
to let such funny words dance
even if it means risking the glance
of holier than thou.

Oh, holy cow!
Must I bow
to the pristine talk, uptight walk, and the stiff upper lip?
Or shall I just skip
and go on my merry fucking way with a hop, skip and a jump
while others opt to play grump?

It’s actually rather cute.
Listen, and it starts to glisten…
Duck. Muck. Fuck. Cluck cluck!
Cha-cha-cha, hahaha! Fuuuuuuuuck!
Now try this:
Sing We wish you a Merry Christmas
with just this one sound.
It would astound
me to think that this does not lead to a round
of laughter thereafter.

So here’s what I have to say,
perhaps to some’s dismay:
Take Fuck
and give it a run!
With some luck
you might find you have fun
in which case you will have won
by not feeling so fucking humdrum,
even if others come undone.
The kingdom won’t run amok
with the utterance of a single Fuck.

Regardless of how it’s received
you may end up relieved
by letting a Fuck fly out.
Let a bird loose —
a Fuck, a duck, or a goose.
Don’t be obtuse.
Chuck it in the Fuck-It Bucket
and dancethef*ckon.
There are whole philosophies built ’round this
that a turned-up nose might miss.

You’ll never know
‘til you give it a go.
Say Fuck and repeat.
Then? Say it again
and see if it doesn’t beat
festering in a hot mess of stress.
Some of the greatest crimes
are heralded by times
that we don’t just let it out
with an exasperated shout.

Just for fun
if you don’t usually gripe
with a cuss word of this type,
next time a shitty day is done
be mischievous, and utter just one.
See how good it feels.
You may even find it heals.

If conveyed in right time and place
you will not fall from grace.
Next time you find
yourself in a fucking bind
or feel like you might explode,
take it from me:
Let a Fuck or three free!
See if it lightens the load.
Next time things run amok?
Release another flying fuck!

A dear friend who lands on the other end
of that scale (the same side from which I hail, opposite the high-nosed ladies)
sports a shirt, and with this word it does flirt.
It reads loud and proud:
Fuck you, you fucking fucker!
This woman is my hero.
How many fucks does she give? Zero!
Now that’s the way to live — free.
Say it with me:
Fuck you, you fucking fucker!
Once more, with glee:
Fuck you, you fucking fucker!

Now I find this hilarious
that my friend, so gregarious,
dons a shirt of such sassitude.
She, who is never in the slightest rude,
adores that shirt
and dresses it up.
She wears it with a skirt.

Here is some wisdom I learned
which really helped to turn
my cuss up.
Rather than calling another a fucking _______ (fill in the blank),
choose to use it to amp up the Love!
For example,
You’re a fucking rockstar!
Your genius will take you so fucking far.

My takeaway gem about the proverbial them
is that the fewer fucks I give
about others and their mothers,
the more alive I live.
Fuck helps me put peeps through the sieve:
If they stick their nose in the air,
chances are, they likely won’t care
to get to know me better.
I don’t follow all rules to the letter.
It’s best to just clear the air.

For fuck’s sake…
Fuck is a stellar reminder
that to my sense of humor,
I could be kinder
and not take things
so abso-fucking-lutely seriously!

The Fucking End.

This piece was co-penned by Tracy Stamper and her friend Stacy Tramper.


tracystamper02Tracy Stamper is a dancer at heart, in mind, of body, and with words. She is blessed and blissed to call dancing her profession, thanks to the transformational conscious movement form of Nia. She teaches Nia classes and offers Nia White Belt Trainings for fellow dancers at heart, in mind, and of body. Tracy lives in St. Louis in a home on a little hill, with a whimsical wind sculpture out front, and two crazy rescue beagle boy dogs and the two human loves of her life inside. Her current favorite colors are purple, orange and glitter. She likes her chocolate dark, her little bubble of a world Personalitics-free, her inspiration flowing, and her car dances to be uninhibited. You can connect with her on her website, Nia websiteFacebook or Shine siSTAR Shine.


{Join us on Facebook, TwitterInstagram & Pinterest}



Rebelle Society
Rebelle Society is a unique, revolutionary online magazine reporting daily acts of Creative Rebellion and celebrating the Art of Being Alive. Rebelle Society is also a virtual country for all creatively maladjusted rebels with a cause, trying to lead an extraordinary life and inspire the world with their passion. Join us on Facebook, Instagram & Twitter for daily bites of Creative Rebellion. Join our Rebelle Insider List along with over 40k Dreamers & Doers around the world for FREE creative resources, news & inspiration in the comfort of your inbox.
Rebelle Society
Rebelle Society