Bad

Because I have been bad to some,
it seems that I am (to some) also dumb.
Some claim that bad follows dumb,
that dumb is bad not yet come
to full fruit —

and there are others who hold that bad
is an afterthought of sad, bad sadly does not have
its own self-esteem held high, bad longs for 
a firm pat on the head to jar itself loose from fast
hold on sad —

oh, how bullshit walks and struts rationales around the bad.
Let us talk bad turkey:  my bad is sharp.  My bad is shiny.
My bad ate a devil and doesn’t feel bad at all about that.
So I have been bad to some. I sit back still bad and say:
for the fun of it,

in my bottom nature, at those moments,
bad was the only way to be.  Not that good
and true won’t set me free; not that bad is hard
and tight and short term over long haul — all true,
but bad — you know, bad sometimes becomes me.