- - -
Petty Miss Harmony
Truth is syrupy,
truly viscous,
yet vicious,
embedded with irony.
What made me soft,
burns their tongue now.
Their boring bitterness
meets my sweetness
I find my niche—
I braid the leash.
I corrupt their feed.
Sweet enough to swallow—
slow enough to trap.
I spit it back.
Sticky as honey,
call me petty,
tag me Miss Harmony.
I am not here
for the taste.
You are.
©2026 Samia Oldman
CONTEXT
You are reading dystopian fantasy poetry collection the Hush Halo. After the Great Optimization a privileged group of people wired themselves tightly into the system by aligning with it and fully integrating. Systoics believe they’ve perfected themselves by stripping away everything that slows them down. Learn more about Realm or start from Square One.
Dystopian poetry by Sam Oldman. Soundscapes and images are created with AI.
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