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jeffrey conyers Jan 2013
We know the word.
It's applied to many things.
We disagree to it use.
Simply, we acting the nature of being a human being.

Just because siblings doesn't get along.
It doesn't mean they are dysfunctional.
This just the so call experts speaking.

We all know doctors doesn't agree.
So, how can they apply this tag dysfunctional to anyone?

We could say it were a purpose of God.
To see, how we adjust to our conflicts concerning love.

We saw Cain and Abel have disagreement.
And know how that conclusion ended.

Even family that pretends to get along.
Usually exposes they were fronting all along.

We see this constantly in the news.
Where politicians not even kin to one another?
Seems to act like sisters, mothers, fathers, and brothers.
And this includes aunts and uncles too.

So, are they dysfunctional too?
Because they see things in a different light.
Experts, say it is.
We common sense people just say, it's life.

We not suppose to agree on everything in life.

Once, a word makes it into our vocabulary.
Then people starts using it.
As a every day saying

You dysfunctional.
I'm dysfunctional.
When in truth.
We just being us.

We know the way to love.
We just refuse to show it.
Chuck Dec 2013
The holidays are upon us
Time for family and fun
Some families put the fun in dysfunctional
But if yours is not one
Take comfort in this jewel
If your family put the FU in dysfunctional
You're no different from Gods that rule
Chronos, Zeus, and Aries
Make you brother, uncle, and mother
Look like happy fairies
Dysfunctional also spells love
If you drop the dysfunctiona
And add the OVE
Fun and fu in dysfunctional are old jokes. I can't take credit for those line. They are jokes I always loved. The rest was inspired by reading mythology and thinking, "I bet they had a Heck of a family Christmas." :)
Saltnoon Feb 2020
being dysfunctional was like a friend
It sticks to you
Pushes you to bed even when the sun rises and sets

Being dysfunctional was a disease
I saw my friend being pulled to the bed
Weeks later I saw the death stains in the bed wondering how much she was bleeding inside

Being dysfunctional was a prison
My thoughts swam around me with my blurred visions
My head feels heavy
My legs ache

Being dysfunctional was simply scary
How long was I going to be pulled into bed
Only for me to be discovered without a soul
I come from a dysfunctional family
right from the very start,
I come from a dysfunctional family,
because not one of them had a warm heart,
I witnessed sister against sister,
brother against brother,
two parent's that always drank *****,
when they weren't arguing it is because
they were a fast a sleep in their bed room.

I was born into a dysfunctional family,
where no love was ever shown to me,
I saw my parent's send their oldest son
out into the cold world at 23.

When my oldest sister turned 17, she left my parent's
house because she could not take it see each other tearing each other
apart,

The youngest sister what can I say, she started to live in sin with a man
twice her age, but at least they made marriage work,
than what I would like to say,  is she happy this I don't know,
she says she is but I don't know, they were separated for some time,
because all they did was argue just like our parent's did all the time.

I stayed in my parent's apartment until I was 18 year old,  so I could legally leave,
I did the first of two mistakes I married a man who really did not love me.
The only good thing I could say about him he let me see the world,
but he was dreadfully cruel to me and I had leave him for my own good.

Now both my mother and father are dead,
so is oldest brother and sister,  I don't know which way
they were judged and nor if they went to heaven.

I live my life in a quiet way, no one do I bother
I am this way for a reason because I all alone, because
all of those men I have loved have already been called
home.
I am dysfunctional
A jumbled up bag of puzzle pieces that never fit together
An astronaut spiraling endlessly forever
Major Tom watching on
His suited flailing clown
My mental health is an elevator that only seems to go further down
A rabbit hole neverending heading to my dysfunctional peers
Mad hatter grilling his eyeballs to a perfect sear
Nothing but manical laughs to hear
Nothing to doubt and nothing to fear
Nothing but insanity and gloomy clouds, no day is clear
I am dysfunctional
Yet none of these puzzle pieces seem to fit anywhere but here
Written on June 4th '18
AD Snail Apr 2017
Quietly I'll let you go,
Slowly I will allow you to get over me,
Gently I shall inform you I was not the one.

Do not muse over me,
I do not wish to be a bitter taste left on your tongue;
That is why its best that we drift away from this broken love,
And slowly forget.

You do not need to call me anymore,
Its no longer your concern to take care of me.

We were not functional,
And this dysfunctional Love only leaves us emotional;
Leaving us naked on the floor for each others to see one another faults.

Neither of us are peacemakers,
And never bring any justice to our cases of broken promises and hearts,
Leaving smudges of ***** lies polluting our skin.

These is our dysfunctional love and we need to know when to let it go,
So as we drift away, remember when I said "Its for the best,"
Because that is the most truth that spilled out of my mouth since the beginning.
Johnny Zhivago Aug 2013
Spanish influenza
walking pneumonia
icepick headache
common cold
whooping cough
Diabetes
anorexia
getting old

flat foot
bad back
heel spur
heart attack
spasticus
autisticus
tongue tied
amb(i)dextrous

my weakness
is my forte
my sickness is  my skill
my illness
is my realness
it makes my life a thrill


Trying to fight this
bronchitis
gangrene
runny nose
frostbite
tooth decay
hat hair
broken bones

bed bound
shell-shocked
flea ridden
sinusitis
cholera
dropsy
eliphantitis
out-all-nightis

wom­b fever
winter fever
black water fever
remitting fever
ship fever
jail fever
camp fever
or schizophrenia

scarlet fever
tuberculosis
American plague
rock n roll
Wheezing
Paralysed
Got gas
In both holes

rabies
scabies
rickets
and SARS
man flu
bird flu
swine flew
from Mars

multiple sclerosis
tennis elbow-sis
stomach ulcers
and leukaemia
night blindness
hypothermia
lung cancer
sickle-cell anaemia

French pox
Lockjaw
Polio
Gout
Nostalgia
Dropsy
Knocked right
Out

Stuttering
Bellyacher
Anti-social
Leprosy
Sleep walker
Sleep talker
Absent minded
OCD

Tourettes, ****
Pyromania
tonsillitis
Conjunctivitis
Food poisoned!
Warted over
My Psoriasis
(Will I survive this?)

Measles
Malaria
Meningitis
Migraine
Scrum-pox
Worm fit
Water on
the brain

apparitions
seeing things
rattly chest
bad breath
la duzi
tormentation
inflammation
black death

measles
malaria
migrane
mumps
leprosy
lice and
leg bone
lumps

kleptomania
bubonic plague
black *****
feeling ****
bone shave
falling sickness
wanna stop
just cant quit

Huntington's and
Parkingson's and
Hare-lipped
Hay fever
Typhoid fever
Glandular fever
Night fever
And Hysteria

intellectual
dyslexia
dysfunctional
family
cancer crab
stillborn twin
bad blood
epilepsy

Parking spot
disabilities
all the wounds in
all the militaries
pity thee with
lost agility
lost babes or
infertility

ear infection
starvation
Hepatitis
E to A
smallpox
chicken pox
cow pox
what a day

tuberculosis
stuttering
panic stricken
star struck
scurvy
shingles
headless chicken
bad luck


paranoid
in the void
premature
*******
stomach ulcers
feeble pulses
chronicled
*******

autistic
gallstones
double-jointe­d
wrists and knees
consumption
bad digestion
quinsy palsy
ticks and fleas

amnesia
typhus
amnesia
heart failure
radiation
cholera
amnesia
bad behaviour

Hypochondriac?
By gosh, no!
Poorly are ye?
‘Fraid so.


nostalgia
        suffer me
wanderlust
suffer me
insomnia
suffer me
loneliness
let me be



god
complex
mother
complex
father
complex
ego
complex

­

its complicated
im superior
its complicated
im inferior
its complicated
im a short man
got ingrown hairs
got a bad tan



im suffering
ocd
im suffering
obesity
im suffering
jealousy
xenophobia
and nosebleeds



stokholm
syndrome
toxic shock
syndrome
got it down
syndrome
irritable bowel
syndrome

yellow nail
syndrome
stevens-johnson
syndrome
restless leg
syndrome
shoulder-hand
syndrome

lambert-eaton
syndrome
mi­ddle-lobe
syndrome
mobius
syndrome
pickwickian
syndrome

post rubella
syndrome
riley day
syndrome
straight back
syndrome
ulysess
syndrome



alcoholics
we are prone
drug addicts
we are prone
mind benders
we are prone
fortune spenders
we are prone



My illness, my illness
My illness is my realness

*Pick it up
Tide it over
Fight it off or
Cave in

Save it
Suffer it
Pass it on
When its Raining

bleed him
restrain him
shave his
head

he went from being
quite well
to being quite
dead.
unfinished but did you bother to the end?
Renee Ransom Mar 2013
Welcome to the family where there are fights daily.
Where you don't have a happy place.
Where you can't fit in.
Even here.
Where "mommy and daddy" hate each other.
Where mommy is still married.
And not to daddy.
Where your brothers ignore you.
Telling you they love you.
Then spitting in your face.
And your best friend is the only one who understands your pain.
But she's thousands of miles away.
Leading a life you can't be apart of anymore.
Welcome to the dysfunctional family.
Welcome to my life.
emmaline Sep 2013
Whenever I think of dysfunction I think of all of us together. What causes us to function is each other. We never function when we're all together.
If you looked at a picture of us you'd see fragmented faces and aching stitches holding up the frames of our smiles.
If you looked in my brother's eyes you'd see the red around the edges that tells you how much he hates it. He thinks he'd break the function if he let the blood spill down his face. He can't close his eyes, he won't blink, he won't make a mistake, he's so tired, he has to fix it, he doesn't know. He's still bleeding.
If you looked into the creases of my mother's smile you'd see that she is tired. Her smile doesn't know how to smile all the way anymore because the creases have to hold up everyone else's. They're growing weary and fading into a slant. You'd see that she's tired of holding us all together.
If you looked at the pieces of hair that fell across my father's face you'd see a few gray hairs. You'd see that nature took a few too many spins on his life and that things aren't going right anymore. His shadow is following him from underneath the ground.
If you looked at me you might say, "she looks fine."
I am fine.
I'm perfectly functionally fine in the most dysfunctional meaning of the word. I'm smiling, see?
Lies.
Lies make you appreciate the truth, but who wants a picture of a family in misery?
If we were never so broken we would never be this whole.
We never function when we're all together but we function because of each other.
We dysfunction together.
Mahima Gupta Jan 2014
She’s looking up,
At the constellations,
And trying to make sense,
And trying to discern something .

Those stars,
They’re looking down upon her,
Thinking how easy it is to fool her,
How easy it is to help someone in being preoccupied all night,
How all the random thoughts take perfect place in the witching hour,
How overthinking makes her brain dysfunctional but she has to live with it,
Everyday,
Inadvertently,
she forgets the kind of place this is.
Here,
The ones who try, suffer
The ones who don’t, suffer.
This place favours nobody
Every second, it is eating you up.
Frisk Dec 2013
"silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous.”* ― friedrich nietzsche

like poking the hornet's nest with a stick, you are a rose with stems and thorns so thick,
your skin is protection from oppression, keeping the world out of your private channels
like i'm AM and you're FM all of which are static with distorted voices only science can pry through your enigmatic cacophony on a molecular level, and any evidence of who you are, i couldn't find with years of knowledge, a indestructible ship could speak more evidence about
why it was annihilated, obliterated, disintegrated under the ocean for months at a time without
any current survivors, and the last person i could be described as would be Sherlock Holmes
every detail washes over my head like a flood of details that can't enter because a force field
surround my head like it's a crown being so clueless, but it feels like i'm wearing a dunce hat
and maybe i do realize that there will be a position where you will be put out into light
there is no way out of your mind, like a schizophrenic, if kryptonite killed superman,
can it **** the infectious virus spreading like wildfire through these veins, can you stop
worrying about when you will finally break down and open up to someone?
****

- kra
raw with love Nov 2015
(Yes, better than Harry Potter, get your pitchforks ready)

My first encounter with THG was approximately four years ago, when I had barely turned fourteen, did not consider myself bilingual and was romantically frustrated. Naturally, I made several mistakes at the time. First off, I read the series in translation, since I'm not a native English speaker, and missed out a huge chunk of the significance of the story. Then, as I said, I was romantically frustrated and thus paid such a monstrous amount of attention to the romance aspect of the story that I want to bitchslap myself. Finally, at fourteen, I was still ignorant and uneducated about so many things that I read the series, got hyped for perhaps six months or so, then forgot all about it, save for the occasional rewatch of the movies. In retrospect, this is probably one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. Now, at the ripe old age of eighteen, a significantly better-read person, waaay more woke, as well as socially aware, I decided to finally read the series in the original and am finally able to put my thoughts together in a coherent, educated review of the series.

The Hunger Games has continuously been compared to a number of other books and series, occasionally put down as inferior and forgettable. In those past few years I managed to read a great part of the newly established young adult dystopian genre and am able to argue that A. The Hunger Games is undoubtedly universal and unrestricted to young adult audiences and that B. it is, without the slightest shade of uncertainty, the best series written in our generation.

While many people draw parallels between The Hunger Games and, say, Battle Royale, the similarities end with the first book, which, while spectacular in execution, seems unoriginal in its very idea. As the series unrolls, however, it is hardly possible to compare it to anything, save for, perhaps, Orwell's 1984. The social depiction and the severe criticism laid down in the very basis of the story are so brutally honest that it fails my understanding how the series was ever allowed to become this popular. What starts out as a story about a nightmarish post-Apocalyptic world works up to be revealed as a cleverly veiled portrayal of our own morally degraded and dilapidated society (if you're looking for proof, seek no further: as the series was turned into several blockbuster movies, public interest was primarily concerned with the supposed love triangle rather than the bitter truths concealed in the narrative). Class segregation, media manipulation, dysfunctional governments are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the realities that The Hunger Games so adroitly mimics. If I were to dissect, chapter by chapter, all three books, I'd probably find myself stiff with terror at the accuracy of the societal portrait drawn by Collins. I strongly advise those of you who haven't read the series between the lines to immediately do so because no matter how many attempts I make to point it out to you, you simply have to read the series with an alert sense of social justice to realize that it doesn't simply ring true, it shakes the ground with rock concert amplifiers true.

Other than the plot that unfolds into a civil war by the third book (the series deals so amazingly with trauma survival and with depicting the atrocities of war that I am still haunted by certain images), the characters of the story are what makes it all the more realistic. Though Hollywood has done a stunningly good job in masking the shocking reality of the fact that these are children - aged twelve through eighteen, innocent casualties paying for the adults' mistakes; children forced into prostitution, fake relationships, children forced into maneuvering through a world of corruption, media brain-washing and propaganda.

Consider Katniss. She is a person of color (olive-skinned, black-haired, gray -eyed, fight me if you will but she is not a white person), disabled (partially deaf, PTSD-sufferer, malnourished), falling somewhere in the gray spectrum both sexually and romantically. As far as representation goes, Katniss is one of the most diverse characters in literature, period. Consider Peeta, his prosthetic leg (which, together with Katniss's deafness, has been conveniently left out of the movies) and his mental trauma in the third book. Consider Annie's mental disability. Consider Beetie in his wheelchair. Consider all the people of color, as well as the fact that people in the Capitol seem to have neglected all sorts of gender stereotypes (e.g. all the men are wearing makeup). There is absolutely no doubt that the series is the most diverse piece of literature out there. Consider this: the typical roles are reversed and Peeta is the damsel in distress whereas Katniss does all the saving.

Furthermore, the alarming lack of religion (in a brutal society reliant on the slaughter of children God serves no purpose), as well as several other factors, such as the undisputed position of authority of President Snow, is suspiciously reminiscent of the already familiar model of a totalitarian society.

The Hunger Games, in other words, is revolutionary in its message, in its diversity, in the execution of its idea, in its universality. I mentioned Harry Potter in the subtitle. While this other series has played a vital role in the shaping of my character, it has gradually receded to the back line for several reasons, one of which is how problematic it actually is. This, though, is a problem for another day. (The Hunger Games is virtually unproblematic and while it may be argued that the LGBTQ society is underrepresented, a momentary counterargument is that *** has a role too insignificant in the general picture of the story to be necessary to be delved into this supposed problem). Where I was going with this is that, at the end of the day, Harry Potter, while largely enjoyed by adults and children alike, is a children's book and contains a moral code for children, it was devised to serve as a moral compass for the generation it was to bring up. The Hunger Games, on the other hand, requires you to already have a moral compass installed in order to understand its message. It is, as I already said, a straightforward critique of a dysfunctional society, aimed at those aware and intelligent enough to pick on it.

As for its aesthetic qualities, the series is written, ominously, in the present tense, tersely and concisely, yet at the same time in a particularly detailed and eloquent manner. It lacks the pretentious prose to which I am usually drawn, yet captivates precisely with the simplicity of its wording, which I believe is a deliberate choice, made so as to anchor the story to the mundane reality of the actual world that surrounds us.

That being said, I would like to sum up that The Hunger Games is, to my mind, perhaps the most successful portrayal of the world nowadays, a book series that should be read with an open mind and a keen sense of social awareness.
What happens when the good girl goes bad
like the spoiled milk she left out?
Because I couldn't seem to get up.
I think it was something about acknowledging that I'm alive, I'm here.
Wouldn't it all be easier if I wasn't?

When the good girl goes bad
because she worked her *** off on that paper and only got a C.

When the good girl goes bad
because the world doesn't treat her right,
but I guess it must because that's
how come I'm the good girl.
Not my depressed sister sitting in her room;
not my other sister running around, destroying everything I had to work for;
most definitely
not my other sister who always seemed to be your favorite but is now smashing plates in our backyard,
'cause I guess that's what happens if you get too close to you.

When the good girl goes bad,
you get angry because
I'm supposed to be your perfect child
not supposed to be
your ***** up child
your lonely child
your lazy child
your anxious child
not supposed to be
your good for nothing child
your dysfunctional child
your doesn't give a **** about anything anymore child.
why don't I ******* give a **** about anything anymore?

When the good girl goes bad
your life falls apart,
because clearly
you had enough to deal with already,
because clearly
this is all my fault,
because clearly
you don't have the time to face your good girl
and
because clearly
that's all on me.

When the good girl goes bad
because you left her out on the counter all those years, sitting there to rot.
And though I know that you can't waste your time putting it away, 'cause you never cared for it anyway,
maybe you shouldn't have bought the milk if you didn't want to drink it.
And I know the milk should take care of itself
but I tried and that only works for a couple of years
before the good girl gone bad falls far off the counter, spills across the floor,
and the only thing left is to throw that nasty old milk away
because your bread, eggs, oil, etc. need your attention
and it's just too late for the good girl.

When the good girl goes bad
because she never asked to be the good girl
or maybe I did, I don't really remember,
but not like this.
I just wanted to be loved
but little did I know that
the good girl just sits there
keeping herself afloat,
but the boat can't guide itself if it wasn't given eyes.
The boat can't patch itself if you keep telling it its still brand new
when its really old, broken, and covered in holes.
You shouldn't put a boat in the water if you know its going to sink,
but I guess you only really need a couple good boats
so you can just toss the good girl.

When mama's little good girl goes bad,
she feels guilty
because she was told she'd always be
the good girl.
Though, its hard being the good girl when you don't have any windshield wipers for your tears at night.
But the tears at night aren't supposed to exist
because
I'm still mama's mother ******' good girl,
just...
please pretend I haven't gone bad.
I added to what was originally posted. I was having some technical issues and decided to just post what I had before, but this is the full poem (5/16/18)
Andrew Kerklaan Jun 2018
Glass ticking like cold plastic

My fingers thrum hopelessly in the hopes of drumming up a solution to a problem with an issue of loss.

This dilemma has found me at the end of my rope and I fear the knots in my stomach are only getting tighter as I squeeze you closer to me now.

Why can't I help me?

I won't let you do it for me.

But must I force feed you the truth?

I'm not hungry for this day any more. Fighting this sickness, I choke back another spoonful of medicine...
--And what am I supposed to do now then?!

Frustration consumes me.
I am bile. The emptiness inside, that fills me with rot.

I'm hollow!!

Somebody save me from myself!   I want to self-destruct and not be okay anymore.

I want to fly a Subaru into the sun on fire.
I'm just so ******.

Just leave me behind and maybe I can decompose into something useful and that actually wants to be here and maybe after that I can finally float away from here...

Wouldn't that be okay?
Why should I have to stay.

I never belonged here any way.
Katelynn N Feb 2014
...and what a dysfunctional miracle it is
to grace this earth
with only two feet
and so many miles to cover
Cné May 2017
Her shadow
Washed in sin, covered in blood
Oh, what a sad little dove
Festering secrets, slathered in shame
Purity poisoned, life to blame
Born unwanted, a mother denies
Behind the shadow of our eyes

His shadow
In dynamics
Of dysfunctional dismay
Lost in secret family shame
These emotional contacts delay
That we carry 'til the end of our days
Cast in stone, in foundation of lies
All these shadows behind our eyes

Her pain
Painful memories of long ago
Though, I know, I must let go
Triggers upon the aching scars
That burns within an injured heart
Full of fear, in the wake of lies
All behind the shadow of our eyes

His pain
An unending twitch
The fast fading smile
The ever bleeding heart
Of a broken lost child
Carrying stones up endless hills
All these issue we're forced to feel
And stuff them down, way down inside
Behind the shadow of our eyes

Her darkness
Hidden is a blacken variant
Attached with unbreakable sealant
Of life's destiny, from the gods
Concealed amid, evolved facades
A mind, compartmentalized
Behind the shadow of our eyes

His darkness**
Desensitized to life, empathy left poor
Bottomless abyss where my spirit now soars
Love is a dream in my abandoned role
The pieces won't fit my wandering soul....

The window to a soul hides
Behind the Shadow of our Eyes
Sharing shadows with Traveler
Julie Grenness May 2016
In our world technological,
Here's how to talk to gadgets digital,
"Now, listen up, keyboard and router,
Not to mention dysfunctional mouser...
Are you listening to me carefully?
(I am talking to them, but silently),
I do have replacements for each of thee,
I see a future ahead of you three,
Tossed into the gaping jaws of a bin,
off to the council tip, repository of sin,
Did you hear that? Listening in,
Stop trying to do my head in!"
Now they're behaving dutifully,
Technology responding beautifully,
"I'm warning each one of thee,
No more messing around with me!"
Yes, how to talk to technology!
(But make sure you do it silently!)
A whimsy. Feedback welcome.
Quentin House Jan 2015
I'm a little dysfunctional.
Don't ya know?
If ya push me it might be bad.
Get a little emotional.
Don't ya know?
Fool around and make me **Mad.
Lyrics. That are so true to me.
Kenny Brown Mar 2012
Ominous notes are spewed from the *****,
Shaking the chandelier.
“It’s a syndrome he suffers from, one of being half-reared.”
The monotonous metronome ticks at allegro
While the all too sure foot taps andante.

Entrancing sweet air surrounds that ever-thinning hair
While I chew on half of a pear.
Wear and tear quickly begins to take place
While I erase the ink on my page to make space.
To make space for answers to these overwhelming questions.
I’ve never been much of a winner in this race.
And I’ve heard pace is the key,
But I have no such interest in locks.

Oh yes I’ve got golden goals,
But not the type of gold the count uses for bitter revenge,
Gold more likened to The Idiot’s investments.

Thetis by what mind did you dip only my fingers?
At sunrise my left side malingers.

Hello Mr. and Mrs. Jones I’m a sales representative from corporate united
Can I interested you in a genuine grin this evening.
Oh…that’s fine, I get paid just to ask.
But regardless, I could really use some conversation at the moment.
Would you mind ministering me with melodies?

I scrape the insole of a misfit pair…
Staring and staring at the ground waiting for it to shake.
Trembles are a sort of comforting contagion.

Oh it’s long been cold enough to build fires,
But I’ve only just collected the wood,
And I see no value in conversing alone outside,
Splitting the options with a razor, the sheets are more comfortable.
Lonely days bring still shivers multiplying,
My skin’s grown thin, all my warmth radiates out.
Oh I should have been a pair of scuttling claws…
The salt water is purely a majority,
My spirit is displaced into phytoplankton riding waves.
There there are no graves,
No cremation or consolation.
Just rest.

My I’m tired, I’ve toiled and tilled till morning
And still haven’t seen sprouts.
The bull in my chest shouts and I’ll I want
Is to wring it’s neck.
I’m tired of walking amongst bloodsuckers and
Angry hordes of minotaur’s.
I’m tired of constantly treading over manmade floors,
And walking down the hall
Only to find my destination…a steel locked door,
Then having to implore upon the janitor.
I’m tired of dancing all the time,
Just let me stand in silence.
Sita Alaska Apr 2014
to one day no longer
crave your attention but
the next want nothing more
than your mad love.
But I never claimed to be
anything other than dysfunctional.
I give you flowers and tears
You give me sarcasm
I wish you would show a little more sympathy
You'd rather I get a backbone
I whisper unspoken love on your shoulder
You say it with a mothering tone
I have a panic attack whenever something doesn't fit
You dismiss it all with an iron fist
I dream of a place full of love and passion
You're just thankful you even exist
Money, ***, miscommunication and occasional road trips
It's not necessarily a bad thing just
Our own sort of a
**Dysfunctional relationship
Katy St Germain Jun 2014
You say I'm irreplaceable.

Where else will you find
unconditional love
a nonjudgmental ear
and genuine selflessness?

You care when it's convenient.
I know a lot is going on in your life.
"The struggle is real," you tell me.
So much is going on in mine
yet I still bend over backwards.
For you.
For anyone who "needs" me to.
Sometimes you ask.
Sometimes you don't.
But I will always come when you need me to.

You can be selfish.
I'm angry.
But I can't be.
I am the one who can't stop myself from doing whatever I can to help you.
You are my dysfunctional, amazing, beautiful friend.

We're both not perfect.
I'm closed.
You're open.
I'm always hurting.
You're always dramatic.
I overgeneralize.
You're superstitious.

Apart or together, we stay close.
Sometimes I think the only thing that could tear us apart is me.
The balance of our friendship is off.
And I am about to fall.
I don't want to take you down with me.
I never, ever want to disappoint you, or hurt you.
But I can't stop the inevitable.
I've already disappointed myself.
Beeha Feb 2015
i came in two sides,
one with four, one with six.
but the two never collide,
broken that could never be fix.

one with too many confidential ,
the other with too much guts.
the two have not much differential,
though they could never be in the same hut.

from the outside they seems fine,
sweet yet full of history,
i should think i'm one of a kind,
maybe i was from a different family.
Kate Lion Feb 2013
I have this dysfunctional need to tell you that I love you, and I know the cure
But I like to think these robot arms would start working again if you would just say you loved me back
But I know that I tied myself to this invisible chair, so how can words do anything to cut this rope the way you cut me
I also have this dysfunctional need for Dr. Pepper
Because I heard that cola products can take the rust off of these dysfunctional arms as well; the only problem is I’m treating just one symptom of a widespread disease
And the root of the disease, everything that’s wrong with me?
I went to the chiropractor today
And he told me I’m allergic to myself, and in saying that I know he means I’m allergic to every single thing I took into my body that made me who I am
Well
That includes you
Heather Valvano Aug 2014
what would you
do to me
if I let you do
shiny, shine
pieces of you
injected
around my eyes
little folds of
my face
function to feel
pregnant with question
the primacy question
malfunctional
destructional
stitched together
survival
survive
patterns of red
mixtures of blue
me becoming
intertwining you
physical fight
as I bite
my own lip
hold it down
make it sick
what would you
do to me
if I let you do
blood red
pieces of you
pregnant with question
the primacy question

dysfunctional hands drenched in faith
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2018
Wish I could do something right
So words would ring true
Wish I met high expectations
Maybe then I could lose a few

I wish I was not weighted with
Weakness well within my core
If only I was put together differently
Strength would emit from every pore

I create my shortcomings
How am I sabotaging my own goal?
Not trying in the first place
Allowing fear to take control

My heart bleeds in anticipation
Before cuts have a chance to appear
Live my life in apprehension
Assuming danger to always be near

My motionless state of insecurity
Realm of dysfunctional doubt
I forever am encapsulated in time
My skull is a jail and I cannot get out
Not so proud of this one but eh.. here it is anyway

Written 8/25/18
Kiah Griffin Mar 2015
here i'm and not here
alone i am in head mine yet live five others all who mill around live.
told what to do i am and approach how to the unknown.
        no decisions i seem make myself yet speak i from the soul.

soul exists whether or not another question is. determine grammar does      
                                       not punctuation, as determine faith does not god.
disprove understanding
ignorance does not, blissful as ignorance is not always.

was wish i for i  ignorant.

k.g.
Yes, it's meant to read like this.
Jessie Nov 2012
Falling down in the rabbit hole,
Scared to death of being alone.
Walk together inside of my soul
We laugh, we fight,
But at the end of the night,
We always moan.
Jeremy Bean Aug 2013
Maybe an abusive relationship
is better than none at all
I never raised my hand to a woman
but I have cut them off at the knees
with my words
I suppose maybe I have been
emotionally abusive
but its only to express the feelings
I was forced to hide
for the sake of them
Either way
those words
are all that are left to haunt me
because when the fight leaves you
you realize
at least you were fighting for love
and love is better than anything else fought over

but  now. . . .those are demons I wish to no longer awaken
even for the sake of escaping loneliness.

If that makes me a better man,
I sometimes wish I could unknowingly return to the worse one.
Lorraine day Nov 2013
He does not think before he speaks
Wounding all with words he meets
A trail of destruction left behind
Oblivious of his dysfunctional mind

Never wrong he's always right
Insecurity is his plight
An enemy to himself within
Everything always about him

No middle ground
No compromise
He'll twist the truth
With articulate lies

His ego grandiose
As he stands tall
His aim to watch you
Retreat and fall
Emotionally void
From the human race
Defiance etched upon his face

Your life now fraught with  pain and worry
As he does never intend to say
I'm sorry
Heirlooms

Jun 2017

One day, parkouring through my uncles two story apartment,

I was drawn naturally to his desktop computer

upon which I found his OkCupid Dating profile.

I don't remember his username, Or anything about the site really,

But I remember the head-shot of a beautiful woman

framed above the desk

the sterile grey Rubbermaid totes behind me like caskets, 

How they made even the hardwood floors

look like they were holding in the dead.

For my Grandmothers birthday

my family gathered at Captain Newicks

her favorite seafood restaurant.

My uncle flirted with the waitress.

I don't think I've ever gone to a restaurant with my uncle where he

didn't flirt with the waitress.

Captain Newicks went out of business shortly after that dinner

followed shortly by my grandmothers life.

the relationship between my uncle and that waitress expired well

before both my Grandmother or Captain Newicks.

I remember asking my grandmother about my Uncle.

Tarots Fool would have predicted

my grandmothers eyelids

a silent prayer before her words.

He had two children by his first wife,

keeps a portrait of her above his desk.

She was a blessing on the family

Selfless amd loved by every one.

She took her own life

Spread her wings to break free from the cage He kept her locked in.

He buried his heart in her casket,

motorcycles, empty bottles

had a third child by a second wife

who buried her heart in drugs and strangers.

Amanda was 6 years old when her mother died.

my uncles wife. Her brother josh was 3

when she died my uncle wanted to put them both up for adoption

he didn't.

Their mother died on the 20th of September

a week after her 25th birthday.

their mother once bought a bunch of carnations

with a dead rose in the middle

and said "it looks like I'm dead".

she took a bottle of pills before going to a chinese restaurant

went out as a family

and collapsed at the table.

she was rushed to the hospital

she didn't make it.

their mother wasn't happy

her and my uncle were getting divorced at the time

lived in the same house that I grew up in.

when my uncle told the kids mommy wasn't coming home

my mother was 17 

and there to see all of it.

When my mother was 17 

she had to watch her baby cousins be told their mother had died.

When my grandmother passed.

grief bounced off of my uncles callouses

ricocheted to my cousins, robbed 

twice now of a selfless mother.

The tragedies in my family

have always enthralled me.

like shakespeare sonnets

I breath them into my faithless nights

tap an extra dream-catcher on my bedpost

in space of a prayer.

When The hearth-fire of our family dimmed 

a tealight in my grandmothers eyes.

grayed, Glossed.

she could no longer crochet 

one big dysfunctional quilt, 

together from our families yarn.

without her needle, 

I was determined to watch how our life spun forward.

The next time I saw my uncle,

He offered me a job.

Thick mosquito blinded us as we carried our sweat 

with Rubbermaid totes into a blue two story home 

deep in the evergreen thickets of Maine.

a tall white fan rotated slowly back and fourth 

Cooling the wet patches on our T-shirts while my Uncle 

flirted with the landlord

I still remember when my uncle tossed me the truck keys

the look of terror I gave him

How easy it was for him to trust

I guess when your heart is buried in a casket 

you stop worrying who has your keys.

It makes me remember

when my daughter asked for my keys 

I would sit her in the drivers seat

watch her pretend to drive.

I loved imagining her free

living how she wanted.

I still wouldn't give her my keys.

she would turn my car into a casket.

It makes me remember

when that little girls mother asked me to drive

My words spun portcullises

prison bars forged in anxiety

scaffolding out of latex secrets

Glued with siren smiles, pacifier kisses

denying cigarette smoke on her breath

fueling infernos in my head.

when my uncle handed me his keys without hesitation.

my religion was insulted by his tough skin.

I felt his simple kindness 

like a splash of holy water. 

saw in me, the devil 

caging a woman like property

holding her hostage 

out of fear.

And yes 

when She could drive she left me

And yes 

when she left me she took her daughter.

every morning 

cereal bowl of pills, I **** myself

keep a poster of my mothers face 

covered in bruises 

behind the tiny orange bottles 

to remind me why I do it.

wake up twice, 

first as Phoenix, dying

second as a watcher, writer and admirer.

callouses are not to protect us from the outside at all.

Callouses harden our bodies into caskets.

Hold in all our dead.
*******, sawdust
Whiskey and rust
This is the life
This is cloud nine

This used to be a simple alibi
But now it's just a damaged lullaby

It's hard to kiss
Skin that crawls
But in the dark
The weakness falls
Unasked questions
They do rebound
Silent screaming
Rings all around

This used to be a simple alibi
But now it's just a damaged lullaby

Tattoos, perfume
Gasoline fumes
Nursing this poison
cringing, no end
Dysfunctional love
is what we make
just one more hit
It'll be the last I take

This is the life
This is cloud nine
It is Thanksgiving morning
I am not ready for this
I am not looking forward to the fighting
and other unnecessary *******
I am not ready for lectures
on how I am doing nothing with my life
It is a very bad idea
to have me peel potatoes when I am full of strife
Don't get me wrong I love my family
each and every one of them
I am not the only one
who has family they wish to strangle around the holidays
I will take in a deep breath
and force a smile onto my face
Life is too short for stress
especially on Thanksgiving Day


This poem is dedicated to those who always have dysfunctional holidays like the ones you see in the movies. You are not alone and you will get through this day. I promise. Happy Thanksgiving.
WRITTEN BY: Mandie Michelle Sanders
WRITTEN ON: November. 25, 2015 Wednesday 4:33 PM
Julie Grenness Nov 2015
My muse had a good idea,
Let's flood the world with Ikea!
Dysfunctional kits, there and here.
For guns and bombs here
No one would care.
They would be assembling Ikea,
Each kit, four missing bits,
Wrong pictures to give them the blip,
Globally occupied with dysfunctional Ikea,
Now isn't this a good idea?
Peace on Earth brought by Ikea.
Bit of fun, sequel to epic ode "Death by Ikea'.
Patrick Conroy Sep 2014
Tear gas and fear tactics.
Riot gear and semi-automatics.
Our military industrial complex has come home.
The government wire taps your cell phones.
Spies on you with drones.
While bully cops with billy clubs break your bones.
You know the motto:
serve master's interests,
protect master's property.
The crooked politician is today's slave owner.
Officer his overseer.
That sweet war on drug money armed them up.
Homeland Security bought the armored truck.
Nothing left to do but duck and cover up the evidence before it hits the 6 o' clock media dump.

I stand here today in full protest of toy soldiers in bulletproof vests placing American citizens under house arrest
with evening curfews and death threats.
Until those who are sworn to
uphold the law
begin to
abide by the law,
there will never be peace.
There will never be rest.
The Geneva Convention of 1925 prohibits the use of
asphyxiating and poisonous gases, liquids, and bacteriological
methods of warfare.
The United States has spoken out against countless countries
that have use these tactics on their own people
but has stood idly by as the police use it as a tool to disperse
the peaceful protests of American citizens.

This ******* needs to stop.
No one needs to die.
Not a civilian, not a cop.
America's infatuation with arming itself has come with
zero accountability and a severe lack of responsibility.
A scared nation with fingers on triggers have created
a bigger body count and has widened the gap between
police and community.

Hate and bigotry will never disappear from the human psyche.
It is the responsibility of every individual to
bring positivity into the world.
Ignore the intolerant.
Praise the pacifist.
May future generations reject the appalling actions of their forefathers
and usher in a new age of love and peace based on
tolerance and understanding.
Adam Childs Mar 2014
Hear the LION'S ROAR
As the many indignant souls
Find themselves restored
In his majestic presence
As he rattles the very fabric
Of this world as many
Broken men become renewed
Their fractured parts
Collect in the melting ***
Of the Lions stare
So let us all dare
To live life like a Lion

Lounging in the sun
Owning and surveying
His beautiful life
Storing great forces
Reservoirs of strength
To pounce and punch
Soft pads of silent stealth
Gather for all his wealth
His appetite strong
He honors every parts of self

But there is no where
To hide in the cats eye stare
As my many fumbling phoney selves
Dissolve in his melting glare
As I am shamed by a look
As I approach life like a crook
My procrastinating belly exposed
In my lack luster display
As I breath a contempt
For my precious life

Standing strong in stature
And rich in golden shine
Radiating with a presence
Of Absolute rule
The air washed with
A bristly respect
A natural pride
Beams with a beauty
Freed from all that is false
His being effortlessly
Embraces the fields
Of his own nature

As I am silenced by
The strangle hold of this
Bitter dysfunctional world
Tightened by a
Multitude of silent gestures
I sit to listen
To the LION'S ROAR
I feel my throat burst
My gagged tongue freed
My choked throat
Beams like the sun
As I softly delve
In to the LION'S ROAR
An open infinity
Cuts my many collars
Releasing my self expression
As a thousand trap doors
Open in me

Learning from the loving LION
Our self expression freed
And our appetite renewed
We live a new adventure
One4u2nv Jun 2013
I eat and purge my relationships like a pro bulimic. I have a unique gift of attracting the most broken of individuals, truly an extremist.

Crazy, violent, addicted, on the run, think they are moon babies banished to live on the sun, AND always saying, “Hey baby you’re my number one". AND even though I know better than to ride on the coattails of crazy, I convince myself I’m actually a someone to anyone. Like I give a ****. So then what’s the ******' hang up?

— The End —