God damn, I tire of “good intentions”.
I’m supposed to swallow my feelings,
because you meant well,
I don’t care if you did,
it was shit,
and I’m tired of the quickness with which bitches will tell me to “lighten up and appreciate a well intentioned joke :)”
You’re not a baby,
not a child,
not an idiot.
You take great pride in being clever,
so don’t play dumb with me and whine about your “good intentions”,
as if I really have to listen,
to the poor execution of your commentary on executions that don’t involve you.
Gallows humour is only gay (as in happy) if you’re not faraway and safe,
with your neck nowhere near the rope,
you insist on the existence of this mess.
You’re not gay (as in homo),
so don’t wave our flag and make cracks about heads on spikes,
when your head would be fine if it woke up in Qatar.
Your attempt at preparing a salad of strange fruit fell flat,
but you keep at it,
telling us to laugh,
with a pleading look,
same energy as “Please clap” from the lips of Jeb Bush.
There isn’t a joke here,
because I’m not funny,
but darling, neither are you.