The Effedupmovies Poem

Author: Smella Righty

They gather in the glow of the greenest screen,

where “Creative Writing” means anything but clean.

Clara drops poems about unemployed heat,

while Meow pastes DSM criteria complete.

Momo screams love in all-caps pure,
chad thundercock prays for a life more obscure.

AO ONI LOVER wants what shouldn’t be named,

Crappee describes a heart attack unashamed.

They guess each other’s ages and flags with glee,

accuse Admin of darkweb conspiracy.

Socks with stripes, constipation confessions,

transphobia essays and summer depressions.

New wave TikTok kids and old-school goons,

arguing over Lake Mungo and Johnny Cash tunes.

Ban threats fly, sockpuppets multiply,

one posts a manifesto, another just “:D 🩷”.

No real names, just ghosts with opinions too loud,

spamming 67, craving the crowd.

They come for the movies that make people flinch,

and stay for the comments that never quite clinch.

Bless the active ones, the deranged and the bored,

who keep this digital asylum adored.

In the house of fucked-up films they found their tribe:

a thousand anonymous hearts, all online, all alive.