74/365: Accidental F*ck Hoarder

I have so many goddamned fucks.
It started with the pile by that wall,
but the fucks kept spilling across the floor —
now, just today, there's more over there by the door —
and, let me tell you,
it sucks tripping over a fuck.
It's worse than damn lego.
I've stopped using the back room altogether,
because it's all fucks floor to ceiling in there.
And it's not like I can give these fucks away.
People used to be proud of having fucks to give,
but now it's a point of pride to be fucks free.
I tried shoving them into the recycling,
but the city wrote to tell me to stop it.
They're not even worth breaking down,
fucks are so devalued.
You can't even make stuff with fucks.
They're just fucks, and
damn it, they're all up against the door now.
These fucks are like fucking tribbles.
So, now I'm an accidental fuck hoarder,
and I'm not even trying.

Fuck.


I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.