We have many specific descriptive words in the English language.
Poetry slams are not for the faint of heart.
When I started writing again, I attended poetry slams. I introduced myself as representing the Medicare Division.
I was older than anyone else present by a generation. I learned a lot.
I did not write any poetry that required trigger warnings, Kleenex, or spit spraying ten yards away.
I did not use the F-word as an expletive, adjective, adverb, verb, gerund, noun, or another part of speech.
I have used the F-word in my past and may again in the future. I usually use it as an expletive, unfiltered, when surprised by pain.
I love vocabulary and I love the nuance, tone, pitch, shaded meaning of finding just the right word. “Spry,” for example, is never used to describe someone young, and could be found insulting depending on how the term is applied. I called out the word “galvanized” in a friend’s writing; too metallic for the rest of her poem. I love the word “quotidian” for an unknown reason.
When I see the F-word in a title or the first lines of an article or poem, I move on. I move on because I am bored by lazy writing, not because of offense. The F-word becomes quotidian.
A Chat with Your Mother is an under-appreciated song by Lou and Peter Berryman. It is also known as the F-word song. It explains a lot.