Whatever: The Word That Wounds

"Whatever” wounds — a verbal slap in jagged prose poetry. A personal, urgent plea.

A prose poem on the sting of ‘whatever’—does it hit you too? Drop your thoughts.

“Whatever” is a verbal slap,
a four-syllable shutdown, a slap that guards the heart with barbed wire.
It’s the sound of someone giving up —
giving up on you, giving up on the moment, giving up on both.
Say it once, and it stings.
Say it twice, it may make a habit,
and you’re swingin' a wrecking ball through your relationships.

Each “whatever” whispers, each “whatever” screams, “You don’t matter,”
leaving the receiver bruised, dismissed,
bruised and done with trying.
“Whatever” isn’t just careless talk, no, not just talk.
It’s a coward’s dodge;
it’s word armor, armor for those too scared or spent
to face a real conversation.

Sometimes it’s just a rude person, a mean-spirited soul
being themselves, being cruel.
Maybe it’s hiding hurt, maybe dodging conflict,
or just lazy apathy, lazy and cold.
But the damage is the same, always the same:
trust cracks, bonds fray,
and you’re left wondering, wondering why people pull away.

Keep slinging “whatever,” keep slinging that word,
and you’ll be the one ghosted, the one left behind,
with respect and love slipping, slipping through your fingers.
The dreaded “whatever” isn’t always vocal,
sometimes it’s in the face, in the body’s signals, in the silence.
I talk a lot, I know it, I know it too well,
and I have been the receiver, the wounded receiver
of the hurtful “whatever” a few times in the past.

I tend to ramble, I ramble on,
and now and then when I’m excited, so excited about something I’ve written,
my friends, or even a family member,
throws those signals at me, those “whatever” signals.
I didn’t get my name’s “Noisy” addition by chance, not by chance.
I try to police my mouth, police my writing
so I don’t elicit the dreaded “whatever,” that “whatever” from folks,
but it’s my nature to engage, to engage and connect.

For those of us haunted by 3 a.m. ideas,
haunted by truths burning to connect,
“whatever” is a punch to the gut, a punch to the soul.
We pour our souls into words, our souls into meaning,
chasing meaning while much of the world sleeps.
Yet, “whatever” spits on that effort,
“whatever” slams the door, slams the door on connection.
It’s the opposite, the cruel opposite of why we write,
why we care, why we bleed ink to the page.

Every “whatever” is a mirror, a mirror held to your soul,
reflecting the choice to dismiss or to hold.
Will you wield it like a blade, cutting ties with ease?
Or pause, rethink, and speak with words that please?
You’re the author of your story, the voice in your din —
don’t let “whatever” write the end, don’t let it win.

Don’t let “whatever” be your legacy, don’t let it define you.
One word can torch bridges, one word can build them.
Choose better, choose wisely,
or you’ll be the one left staring, staring in the dark
at the ashes of friendships, the ashes of loves
you didn’t intend to lose, never meant to lose.

—Noisy Wren ’25,
Still talking, never shrugging, never giving in.