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"dysfunctions" poems
I tried, x ** something I get a lot is, “you’re too young to be a feminist.” too young to be a feminist for you’ve yet to witness a rhyme or reason to believe we lived in a patriarch-fueled society where the erectile dysfunctions of men are paid for by health care but, God forbid a woman seeks birth control to help herself God forbid a woman does anything to help herself a society where women are taught to be happy with what they can get yet to be ashamed when they get it a society where I grew up being taught not to trust a man for he’d hurt me but taught to have the house clean and his dinner on the table when he got home a society where a woman in a tank top and a pair of daisy dukes is a ***** who is asking for it” when the same woman is what’s used to market the male population who are taught that this is the woman they deserve a society where a woman is unworthy and ***** if she isn’t a ****** but a man is a man so long as he is “getting the hoes” a society where women are taught to protect their innocence and their virtue and the society where they are ostracized and ridiculed for not being ready a society where consent is hopped, skipped, and jumped around and the so called “fact” issued by Scott Johnson that says men can’t control their issues a society where a woman’s womb is not her own whether she wants this baby or not I was taught *** was shameful and wrong unless you were married but please, give him a baby and keep him satisfied we glorify teen pregnancies and ignore the accomplishments of women if I’m too young to be a feminist, then it’s quite **** sad I can point out what’s wrong in the world.
0
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
"You're Too Young to Be A Feminist" // Slam Poetry Transcript
I tried, x ** something I get a lot is, “you’re too young to be a feminist.” too young to be a feminist for you’ve yet to witness a rhyme or reason to believe we lived in a patriarch-fueled society where the erectile dysfunctions of men are paid for by health care but, God forbid a woman seeks birth control to help herself God forbid a woman does anything to help herself a society where women are taught to be happy with what they can get yet to be ashamed when they get it a society where I grew up being taught not to trust a man for he’d hurt me but taught to have the house clean and his dinner on the table when he got home a society where a woman in a tank top and a pair of daisy dukes is a ***** who is asking for it” when the same woman is what’s used to market the male population who are taught that this is the woman they deserve a society where a woman is unworthy and ***** if she isn’t a ****** but a man is a man so long as he is “getting the hoes” a society where women are taught to protect their innocence and their virtue and the society where they are ostracized and ridiculed for not being ready a society where consent is hopped, skipped, and jumped around and the so called “fact” issued by Scott Johnson that says men can’t control their issues a society where a woman’s womb is not her own whether she wants this baby or not I was taught *** was shameful and wrong unless you were married but please, give him a baby and keep him satisfied we glorify teen pregnancies and ignore the accomplishments of women if I’m too young to be a feminist, then it’s quite **** sad I can point out what’s wrong in the world.
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25
I'm sorry that I am inadequate I am sorry that I am absolutely confident I'm sorry that I'm happy I'm sorry that you're miserable more than half the time I'm sorry that you only start loving me once you've broken my heart and I have left I am sorry that I am not rich or possess glamorous material I am sorry that these are the type of people that you would settle for I am sorry that where I come from there is no ego, smallness or bigotry or watch dogs to keep stars in check so they're humble for there is no extreme self-ansorbtion I'm am sorry that you cannot feel and I am not there to heal once your conscience starts to breathe I am sorry that I have failures and dysfunctions I am sorry that you feel small and inadequate when I achieve I am sorry that when you are angry; everyone around you must be just as angry I am sorry for the weakness in you to hurt others because you are constantly hurting and cannot contain it I am sorry that I am not perfect and may not be everything you have ever dreamed I am sorry that I have to be crucified for the mistakes and faults of previous lovers I am sorry that I don't have a *** appetite when I am feeling down and low I am sorry for being direct and sincere I am sorry that there are certain things that I do not feel anymore, pains that just cut the broken pieces of my heart I am sorry that wars have turned me into a recluse and gave me no choice but to grow I am sorry that I resonate to vibrations that radiate positive energy I am sorry that I found solace in solitude and understanding myself I am sorry that womankind has been scarred by men who had failed to understand the feminine energy within themselves I am sorry that I am to blame for your emotional instabilities I am sorry that you cannot run as fast as the best athlete I am sorry that I cannot drive as fast as the best Nascar driver for I do not have a car I apologize for low tolerance for ******** lies and fakeness I am sorry for my emotional scars I am sorry for  intelligence when it cannot reach you I am sorry that you cannot understand how wounded I am, if you did you'd stop trying to hurt me for you'd only be hurting yourself And lastly I apologize that you lack self esteem to realize the magnanimous potential within you but see it is self-esteem, work that you do on yourself with the support of those who serve goodness and your best interests I am sorry that the world is filled with the filth of hell but what the heck I cannot be sorry for searching for heaven in the circumstance.... So I'm not sorry for divinity.
0
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
I'm Sorry
I'm sorry that I am inadequate I am sorry that I am absolutely confident I'm sorry that I'm happy I'm sorry that you're miserable more than half the time I'm sorry that you only start loving me once you've broken my heart and I have left I am sorry that I am not rich or possess glamorous material I am sorry that these are the type of people that you would settle for I am sorry that where I come from there is no ego, smallness or bigotry or watch dogs to keep stars in check so they're humble for there is no extreme self-ansorbtion I'm am sorry that you cannot feel and I am not there to heal once your conscience starts to breathe I am sorry that I have failures and dysfunctions I am sorry that you feel small and inadequate when I achieve I am sorry that when you are angry; everyone around you must be just as angry I am sorry for the weakness in you to hurt others because you are constantly hurting and cannot contain it I am sorry that I am not perfect and may not be everything you have ever dreamed I am sorry that I have to be crucified for the mistakes and faults of previous lovers I am sorry that I don't have a *** appetite when I am feeling down and low I am sorry for being direct and sincere I am sorry that there are certain things that I do not feel anymore, pains that just cut the broken pieces of my heart I am sorry that wars have turned me into a recluse and gave me no choice but to grow I am sorry that I resonate to vibrations that radiate positive energy I am sorry that I found solace in solitude and understanding myself I am sorry that womankind has been scarred by men who had failed to understand the feminine energy within themselves I am sorry that I am to blame for your emotional instabilities I am sorry that you cannot run as fast as the best athlete I am sorry that I cannot drive as fast as the best Nascar driver for I do not have a car I apologize for low tolerance for ******** lies and fakeness I am sorry for my emotional scars I am sorry for  intelligence when it cannot reach you I am sorry that you cannot understand how wounded I am, if you did you'd stop trying to hurt me for you'd only be hurting yourself And lastly I apologize that you lack self esteem to realize the magnanimous potential within you but see it is self-esteem, work that you do on yourself with the support of those who serve goodness and your best interests I am sorry that the world is filled with the filth of hell but what the heck I cannot be sorry for searching for heaven in the circumstance.... So I'm not sorry for divinity.
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34
I once heard of a girl with a lack of muse, a broken heart, a razor, and a noose. Is it true that pain can make someone change? The silence is terrifying. It screams reality. Eventually that girl got back on her feet. Found a refuge in the lyrics, an escape in the beat. That little girl grew up. Knew she had to change. She threw away the razor. Even changed her ******* name. She climbed her way to Sydney Rain. She wont let go of all the pain. To keep a reminder of awful days. To build her up to a better place. She may still have her flaws, hell, call them her dysfunctions. But she built a kingdom all her own, one she wont let crumble.
0
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
Dysfunctional Kindom
Sometimes, I pin-point things. I break them down single handedly causing no disruption to your lack of observation. This interrupts some significant social dysfunctions that manifests me daily. Remorse for things, what things, I have no things. I have pieces of bizarre delusions in which I feel I need at the time. I don’t need these things. They already exist in here. Burn them. They’re already all around me. Taunting, specifying, predicting my next move, next thought. Aroused brain assumptions. Your still there. Not noticing. I need my medicine. Medication. Things. Pill is a noun. Noun- Person, Place, or Thing. Never mind that disorganized thought, I don’t need them anyway.
0
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 4:32 PM UTC
Psychiatrist
I listened to an ignorant man speak today, A bias, racist tirade. My ears and heart stung with each syllable of hate he uttered. Is it not sad that in a day such as ours, that persons such as these still exist? I was incensed at the mere possibility that this fool might think that I approved of such viewpoints and prejudices. But yet, I said nothing to him, I only listened to his goings on and empty justifications as to why he felt this way. In what light then am I left in? My silence; did it fuel his racist diatribe, Or… was he a tool so that I might use it as inspiration and yet another insight to write this small but nevertheless important piece? The tools that come to hand come in many different forms. Our inspirations, motivations come from those areas that most times we abhor. Our outrage fuels us to action, I often wonder after such experiences, if not for them then what would I write about? Oh yes, the Golden field’s of Autumn evenings, the lover’s hand across my chest and brow. The kindness of my fellow man, and his sacrifice. These reflections of pure light. However, there are moments when one must write of the darkness to rid themselves of it. Do I justify the actions of an ignorant lout who speaks hate and distrust? Never, But I find myself at an impasse of conscience understanding, Is this hateful thing the vehicle through these words of its own destruction? Perhaps an inflicted death blow wielded by a poor poet’s pen, to envision a time when thoughts such as these do not exist? What then will the poets write of, what then will be the inspiration, Is it a sin to write of these things? My fear of perpetuating the cause of this discourse weighs heavily upon me. Is the poet, the writer, addicted to these heartaches and dysfunctions of his fellow man, No I think not, We are witnesses to the coming of age of this world. In our lifetimes we will walk but a short mile in it; and while here I for one will share such things. I will battle these questions in my own time and pray for peaceful tongues and cleansed hearts. Cleansed of prejudice and hate.
0
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
A Poet's Questions
I listened to an ignorant man speak today, A bias, racist tirade. My ears and heart stung with each syllable of hate he uttered. Is it not sad that in a day such as ours, that persons such as these still exist? I was incensed at the mere possibility that this fool might think that I approved of such viewpoints and prejudices. But yet, I said nothing to him, I only listened to his goings on and empty justifications as to why he felt this way. In what light then am I left in? My silence; did it fuel his racist diatribe, Or… was he a tool so that I might use it as inspiration and yet another insight to write this small but nevertheless important piece? The tools that come to hand come in many different forms. Our inspirations, motivations come from those areas that most times we abhor. Our outrage fuels us to action, I often wonder after such experiences, if not for them then what would I write about? Oh yes, the Golden field’s of Autumn evenings, the lover’s hand across my chest and brow. The kindness of my fellow man, and his sacrifice. These reflections of pure light. However, there are moments when one must write of the darkness to rid themselves of it. Do I justify the actions of an ignorant lout who speaks hate and distrust? Never, But I find myself at an impasse of conscience understanding, Is this hateful thing the vehicle through these words of its own destruction? Perhaps an inflicted death blow wielded by a poor poet’s pen, to envision a time when thoughts such as these do not exist? What then will the poets write of, what then will be the inspiration, Is it a sin to write of these things? My fear of perpetuating the cause of this discourse weighs heavily upon me. Is the poet, the writer, addicted to these heartaches and dysfunctions of his fellow man, No I think not, We are witnesses to the coming of age of this world. In our lifetimes we will walk but a short mile in it; and while here I for one will share such things. I will battle these questions in my own time and pray for peaceful tongues and cleansed hearts. Cleansed of prejudice and hate.
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11
My marginal dysfunctions like a panther saunter gliding me out to peripheries edge. We won't comment on loose banter, someone says. My mind circles the time as the crow flies, too disturbed for reentry, tweets the parakeet. Phase out with allegiance to no one, Phase back in with desperate facade. I am blank, bleak and broken. Well...that's just the token to get us back in ...the Dahlia wasn't always black to begin with you know, so many colors remain to absorb our sorrow. So lost, forgotten and frail... a ghastly scene so serene and forsaken. Do not fret my fellow faire, we are ghosts of crimson lore, pathos to the people...morose...together on the edge of forever. Interlacing fingers, we stand then walk the plank of insanity...who will hold my hand??
0
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
[Plank of Insanity]
*** is *** a hint of what's to come celebration of emotional dysfunctions ****** disconnect convoluted nonsense
0
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
*** is ***
If I attempted to expose My many dysfunctions With words that simply rhymed My heart would surely ache As I committed to relate The faults in my weary mind What I'm really trying to say Between these lines is where I fade And so I survive another day!
0
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 6:45 AM UTC
THERAPY SESSION
I This is what I do when I can’t sleep. Write my hate notes while others dream deep. I draw shapes of plight with my pen And I’m dysfunction and I’m all dark. II I can’t watch my rind wringed anymore. Between bone and skin Is a hole where my soul once flowed. Now floored. III Beat back: broken back: The stain of us. The vacuum of us. The timely death of us. I draw shapes of plight with my pen dreaming dysfunctions and all dark.
0
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Untitled
Lost in the shadows Are the building blocks Of the dark poets Pre-operational Innocence Trying to fit in But the dysfunctions Left wounds And walls within The ignorance of societies Left its mark Condemning Then branding The misguided heart Subconscious reaction Ideologies that captivate And disturb the measure Of normal Thus The Dark Poet Was born...
0
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
NOW THAT WILL LEAVE A DARK SCAR
It’s All About Family A rush to change into trousers and shirt Discarding pajamas and morning quiet And a half-eaten breakfast burrito - Dear God, the relatives are here again They never ‘phone; like mayflies they appear First peeking through the windows, and only then Ringing the doorbell, breathless with gossip And detailing their medical dysfunctions They seem to settle in for the summer While one’s soul longs for a burrito lost
0
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
It's All About Family
She’s dancing and spinning in circles Her arms open wide The joy of life shining from her eyes Her mommy and daddy love her so good All her aspects so well understood No dysfunctions, no issues No wars to be won Just beauty and perfection And love by the tons Unfortunately it’s only an illusion And the truth is very sad Her mother’s a low-down ****** She had *** with her dad She may be coming she may be going She’s not really sure Her life is been moving so **** quickly That her memories are a blur...
0
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
HER ILLUSION
after changing my drinking regime i realised i moved to a different planet... it's days are ~36 hours long, they include an entire night and two halves of two days. this poem was to be a brief review of a sample of a book, the melancholic mystifying melancholy as something mysterious, not a noumenon in sight, just the same bland phenomenon on repeat, always in the modern age with urban environments instead of attacking old men who accomplished much, instead attacking youth... it's when he mentioned reading much of Foucault's madness and civilisation, much?! what's much? a lot, most of it... so it doesn't exactly mean all of it, and this is a person studying for an MA (masters in arts)... oh let me tell you, melancholy in youth spreads like an Australian bush fire, in youth depression is actually contagious, a virus of some sort, old farts don't bother each other in the same way, moulding each other... they complain about bad knees, aches and pains and erectile dysfunctions... but it's a sad comedy, it's not exactly a tragedy.. they're laughing with each other: WE MADE IT! youth can't say the same, old age used to contain the virus of depression en masse, it spread naturally, in varying degrees, but depression in youth is like A.I.D.S. or something, talking my old grandfather for long periods at a time i too thought about jumping off the roof... yet this is given the comforts of post-communist retirement whereby he was comfortable. i too read all of Foucault, one picking up **** from a dealer who worked in a hospital and was supplying lean ***** to rich kids doping... book in hand, he was sitting on his sofa playing a computer game, we were both at the same uni, he was there for business reasons studying oriental & african studies... but actually there on business... he saw me with the book and just said: oh man, heavy going, yeah? see... i should write something more on the subject matter, but there's already a bunch of coalminers digging in my conscience whether i start apply self-censorship to the whole debate, accusing myself of the Orwellian thought-crime; the great suppressors of vocabulary, who probably speak fluent regional slang better standard trans-regional English.
0
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
Planet Mūgagamon̄go
after changing my drinking regime i realised i moved to a different planet... it's days are ~36 hours long, they include an entire night and two halves of two days. this poem was to be a brief review of a sample of a book, the melancholic mystifying melancholy as something mysterious, not a noumenon in sight, just the same bland phenomenon on repeat, always in the modern age with urban environments instead of attacking old men who accomplished much, instead attacking youth... it's when he mentioned reading much of Foucault's madness and civilisation, much?! what's much? a lot, most of it... so it doesn't exactly mean all of it, and this is a person studying for an MA (masters in arts)... oh let me tell you, melancholy in youth spreads like an Australian bush fire, in youth depression is actually contagious, a virus of some sort, old farts don't bother each other in the same way, moulding each other... they complain about bad knees, aches and pains and erectile dysfunctions... but it's a sad comedy, it's not exactly a tragedy.. they're laughing with each other: WE MADE IT! youth can't say the same, old age used to contain the virus of depression en masse, it spread naturally, in varying degrees, but depression in youth is like A.I.D.S. or something, talking my old grandfather for long periods at a time i too thought about jumping off the roof... yet this is given the comforts of post-communist retirement whereby he was comfortable. i too read all of Foucault, one picking up **** from a dealer who worked in a hospital and was supplying lean ***** to rich kids doping... book in hand, he was sitting on his sofa playing a computer game, we were both at the same uni, he was there for business reasons studying oriental & african studies... but actually there on business... he saw me with the book and just said: oh man, heavy going, yeah? see... i should write something more on the subject matter, but there's already a bunch of coalminers digging in my conscience whether i start apply self-censorship to the whole debate, accusing myself of the Orwellian thought-crime; the great suppressors of vocabulary, who probably speak fluent regional slang better standard trans-regional English.
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54
Quiet is all I need. Desiring silence as the critics improvise their own violins. The philosophers tune their cello's. The writers prepare the songs. All the song says is the truth of where I stand in life. Praying I'll be ok tomorrow. How I stand in front of the cold audience whom have the obligation of peaceful listening. Many who choose to not open their ears to another sound will only be alone playing their guitars. I want the audience to be silent for me. Learning as they whisper bewildered and stunned. There are no strings attached. How the sound of one's insecurity dysfunctions another's quality tune. Know we are to hear but don't have to do a cover. Instrumental choice, one's vision and dream. Hear me sing, then tune your cello's, guitars, and violins. We'll take a chance on our stances in life. Hear each other and play together. For in the slightest way, our beliefs, are different, though the sound, can blend.
0
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
The Sound of Belief
Open your mind and think.. Don't allow our inherent dysfunctions to create disconnections Cant you see? Just like you and me We are the victims of our Fathers; and so are they The long line of social inculcation - when did this start? For centuries we made believe that we are the greatest of all species Unique, intelligent and special in its own way We have forgotten We have lost the idea that we are all humans Sharing the same planet with everybody else We have let greed stain our minds Our wisdom - tainted with desires Bernays knew it, ****** knew, Gandhi knew Some used this advance to manipulate and some to emancipate So think! Don't let your desire father your manipulation Don't let your ignorance nurture your fear Think... That's what made you special That's what made you human You have a mind which may not understand everything - which it should be But think. Explore Our world is as broken as it is But it will heal I may not live to see it But I have lived a life with the idea to change it
0
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 11:48 PM UTC
Think
Tinkering hands Lead to restless minds, Always seeking What they might find, In systems running Perfectly well, Please, act with caution, Results may repel. Leave alone what Smoothly flows; If working gears Continue to go, For in the quest To meddle away, We sometimes cause More disarray. Wisdom lies In knowing when To step aside, To leave again. For changes made Without true need Can plant dysfunctions Stubborn seed. If it works, Then let it be, Sometimes that's The wisest plea! Not all that’s old Needs to be renewed; Leave it alone To see itself through. ©️Lizzie Bevis
0
Dec 22, 2024
Dec 22, 2024 at 10:41 PM UTC
If it Ain't Broken, Don’t Fix it
We are newly discovered obsidian daggers Covered in obscene diamonds We had a great time in our scabbards Until your archaeologists came and found us We are accents of rhythm Extracted from a linguists’ worst nightmare We are apparently humid if not quite human Ruminating on our naked dysfunctions We are content to being secret agents Masters of arguments in surreptitious suspense We are sweat and salt upon naked backs That attract you like the golden hues of slumber The ochre of the jungle is crisper than a hundred dollar bill Life-force fueled by something new and leguminous Quetzals bluer than a waterfall or the sky above an igloo I chased you to the bottom of a cup of coffee To overcome the fear of drowning in a melancholy mood
0
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 12:11 PM UTC
Maltiox for Mayan Cacao
I shy away in clouds of self-reflection that cast shadows over human nature's clarity. Reversing a cocoon my fragile organs, exposed- hang To display their veiny functions and dysfunctions. Transfixed on a cellular level I am complicated. I am mechanical. Repeat routines and manage my capital. Resistance faces dreams that are radical. Auto-immune to my own feelings or thoughts- I reject myself. And neglect the wonder of just being alive.
0
Oct 30, 2019
Oct 30, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
Monologue 03