"functionality" poems
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
How we worry about the safety
Of our dreams null and dainty
And our wishes of hope and subtlety.
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
Maybe a disorder in personality
Don’t know my main priority
But weary about a certain casualty.
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
Forgot all my functionality
Living life with absurdity
Death with such acceptability.
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
Please more of anonymity
Dealing with such difficulty
Of one having anxiety.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 10:28 AM UTC
**I peer at the world
And all I see is
possible impossibilities
fictional realities
counterfeit originality
impotent functionality
locomotive staticity,
and rigid elasticity
beside Beastie humanity...**
*I look at the world
and all there's
are peaceful wars
Less Mores
widely locked doors
criminal laws
a stinking rose
and fragrant "choos"
I look at the world
and sadly I see all those...
I even see stepped on toes
on sand-less shores...*
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC
In grammar, a correlative is a word that is paired with another word with which it functions to perform a single function but from which it is separated in the sentence.
In English, examples of correlative pairs are both–and, either–or, neither–nor, the–the ("the more the better"), so–that ("it ate so much food that it burst"), and if–then.
Correlative
-----------
the word intrigues,
not for its functionality,
but for its relativity
we are neither relatives,
blood connected,
nor are we correlated,
in fact, quite the opposite!
my love for you,
from afar,
if not, then,
not at all
you say
never,
and I say, even better!
causing you're confessing,
we are special together,
the more, the better,
our relationship contains
a scriptural clause elemental,
an unconditional
correlative,
for
every
for
e v e r
you
never
utter
……
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 2:39 PM UTC
Take the scissors,
And cut around the edges of my heart.
Don't worry about how it looks.
Fold whatever part of me
That you need to make the first cut.
I'd be surprised if you find any part
Of me that's folded neat.
The kaleidoscope of construction
Paper that is me.
I consider myself a collection
Of scars and different colors—
Of the things that I like and dislike.
Even the wrinkled pieces of myself
I've forgotten about.
You've brought light to those pieces
With each snip of your scissors.
I've noticed how quiet and content
You've become.
You cut, and I bleed in color—
Purple, blue, and yellow.
Of all the shapes you've cut,
None of them are painful.
Watching you mix up the different color pieces of my soul,
Your love, the stick glue that
Gives these pieces more functionality.
I breathe easier, knowing that you're here.
No longer restricted
By stagnant stillness.
You can even fold them into an
Airplane and sail across the room.
I haven’t had this much fun
In a long time.
Don't forget the scrap pieces
Dec 25, 2024
Dec 25, 2024 at 4:52 PM UTC
"Dawn"
I wonder where the prayers went...after years spent sitting in the darkness looking for a change that never came...it never came...and...
Where Is My Diamoonnnd!!!!???
All I Have is coal...
And why....
Why can't I have 3 wishes at least?...
Because change never came...it never came...
Only the Storm remained.
But when being present was a requirement, there transpired a lucid calm...
Mmm...
If only it could be grasped like bed sheets the night the Storm was conceived...
Oh I wish those knees could have been broken!!!...
So they wouldn't have opened to receive...seed...or conceive...
Forgive me..
I pray for a mime to be a fly on the wall of these thoughts!!
I pray the clouds part so the sun can shine and you find rest..
Because....
Everything's better when you are asleep...
Suffering through your Own nightmares...
What happened to the maternal instinct purposed to protect you, nurture you to a point of functionality?
Is there such thing as functional with you?...
Or
Did you wear out your place of origin to where you're no longer sought for or welcomed?
Was it a joy to desert such a never ending storm?
Is there no remorse?
Not for your abandonment...but for society...
No thought for the trail of derailed strangers who will never forget the name of the tornadic soul who impacted them tragically...?
Tragic....
Your calms last long enough to fall in love with the beauty in between..and it is so beautiful.
But...
Not long enough to prepare for your next season...and...
Why.....
Why won't you learn to warn your lovers?
So they may brace for...
Dawn...
Oh...
But...wait...
Look...
The sun...
The sun is coming...
The heavens still love me...
So...
Since the sun is out,
I love you...
Sweet dreams.
~Say Dat~
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 11:48 PM UTC
i write about you
but you do not exist
or maybe you do;
maybe you do and i'm just talking to myself
maybe you're just another part of me that i hate so much
i have to talk to you,
i have to
punish you
because i know i shouldn't like the way it feels-
and i don't; but i keep coming back for more anyway
i amend: i know i shouldn't be addicted to this hatred
you tear me open and pull at my frayed edges
so that i split apart and lose my functionality - and i let you
then i let you thread me back together once more
you build my body with thicker wool each time, hoping that
one day
i'll be warmer, and harder to unravel
and you sew my edges with fragile promises of a better future
as breakable as the metal pin that bends between your crafty fingers
the materials started off so colourful at first, like rainbows
maybe that's why i'm so queer
though over time you started toning down my personality.
as my depression embroidered me, my sexuality dulled
purple and black and white and grey
you manipulate my patterns.
some nights i sleep through, others i don't sleep at all
and some nights my strings are stretched so taut across the nightmares
that one small pull will undo me
i am ripped apart then made into patchwork;
there are white seams over my arms
you call me a work in progress, damaged goods
to be fixed, to be mended:
you can't afford replacements
that doesn't stop you from looking
wishing you could upgrade me into something more,
something better
and every time i fall apart again
i'm left itching with apologies
but never to you; i never say sorry for hurting you
my only regrets are to those who become collateral damage.
i do not apologise to you
because you are me, and i am you
you are a part of me
and i hate you as much as i hate myself.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
i am abrasive
personality functionality deficit
yet i attract
beautiful women
to befriend the hermit of solidarity
will you go out with me
brought answers on no
my friend i could not lose
yet for the end of altruistic bargaining
i end up ahead
with false promises of a beginning
to an end my own personal
apocalypse
david lee roth would understand
that as i write in this
mindset
brought on by reading
778 comics in 12 hours
and a 4 day binge of job for a cowboy
my mind wanders
as insomnia sets in
would i be one of the great
dissociative poets?
a dose of the unrequited free associative minds
free thinking form of diet coke with a side of purple strawberries no i meant blueberries
my mind wanders
and yet i look forward to pad thai on wednesdays with cute blondes whom with i stand
the chance of a bat in the mosh pits of a metal band
suckers
i win
for you all know the taste of yellow mustard
ramble ramble ramble
this indie pop poem
would it be ironic to like it
if one truly hates the wording
and yet loves the idea
one of lives greatest life mysteries
alcohol i bid thee a fair welcome
nimble bubblegum monkey wrench
how long will you read?
enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure
or that i am a flawed creation
going on and on about existential non existent problems
for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions
as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this ice slicked track
metal boar slayer of a thousand suns would be a good metal name from sweden
the mooring dove coos to the beat of an undead drum
boo hoo boo hoo cries the witch at the stake
i am done
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
Speechless.
Without words.
Unable to form coherent sentences.
Without the ability to structure abject thought.
Lacking the necessary temporal lobe functionality
To process latent thought semantics
Into appropriate nervous synapses to create sounds.
Speechless.
You leave me speechless.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
Cancer sticks.
Burning lungs.
Smelly breath.
Yellow teeth.
Hanging out of a mouth like a silly clown prop.
Take a drag
Tar smothering the lungs limiting their functionality.
Cool look when you're 12!
Hell at 42 when the lungs no longer function and your body is poisoned by the uncool part of a *** you can't see!
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 3:26 AM UTC
From ivory towers
to the streets of Paris
the hopeful and hopeless
devour what they've gathered
they all want their chance on the parade
but on epsilon streets it only rains
erroneous stale induced calm
of tropical hibiscus and cool lemon grass
in neat little packaging
and the suits milk their crops
and shout
make me king!
yeah one day I'll be king!
and none of this will mean anything!
and the lions will all be tamed!
because they all want their chance
their chance on the parade
the young and the widowed
the lonely the echos
our self induced coma
oh god give him soma!
oh give him some functionality
his cold lips feel no reason to breathe
the reason
the treason
vociferous silence
buy one get one free
or sit there in silence
because everything's on offer
there's nothing to scoff at
the birth of today
for the death of tomorrow
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 8:15 AM UTC
Are we to wither away, say goodbye to the remote possibility of everything or the acceptance of nothing, damaged as we are from life and what it has thrown at us and how we have adapted to it, where is the strength we thought nothing of when we were young – everything was possible, anything could be overcome.
Now it is harder to start from the beginning to rise from the detritus that has left its smudge on this human plane, to feel warmth from one’s own heart, passions that used to run deep are locked away lost from the moment, will they ever return or are they buried from this reality – what is this reality?
Pure and without stimulus our bodies weak from over indulgence become but empty vessels for our pain to adhere to, but yet exists this mind of memories that fail to disappear.
These very memories fight with the functionality that we accept as our living life mixed with dreams and our experiences laid bare to improve upon the quality of our anger, frustration, pleasure and happiness that engages us again, enabling us the advantage to overcome our apathy and withstand hardship and discomfort, both mentally and physically.
And once again we shout from the highest imagined ground our intentions and with our determination set to turbo drive, we move out on to the superhighway of our existence, battling our demons to achieve our presupposed goals, is this living?
Or merely homage to a bygone set of loosely interpreted doctrine absorbed from our greater consciences. Individuality what has this become? – A freedom to define ones uniqueness?
Is it truly accepted or is it frowned upon, an illusion perhaps, to be held high then massaged by ego, manipulated by the wannabees and dismissed by the pseudo intellectuals for their contrived ill-gotten gains.
Or is it puerile credo that mutates in to a complex melange of all things material, a substitute for the happiness that existed in a previous incarnation of existence, without doubt a causal effect imploding, oblivious to the damage that is caused by the ignorance of consideration and distillation of emotion from love, to the banality of acceptance.
Once again the circle is circumvented and the cycle is begun in earnest until the finality of death is welcomed unto the midst of longing from the soul, in repose before its journey to dance amongst the cosmos.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
Logical doesn’t have taste. It has circumstance. Only to be tasteful, is to be surrounded by a taste of what gradually makes a self importance greater to yourself. Proudly underestimating yourself at first. Giving closure to the surrounding areas. Taste has no boundaries here. A made-up friction. A made-up functionality. A dripping faucet without clarity. Dripping one social taste at any given time. Clarity giving rise to the surrounding areas with logical ingredients. Logical ingredients slapping taste buds without concern for logical praise. Logical praise that doubts it’s understanding of taste buds giving praise to ingredients without concern for how praise will affect it’s priorities. Priorities finishing the diversity of something logical with a taste. The taste buds feeling the diversities finalizing ingredients in their rightful places. Like shiny white plates on display for the crowd of praises effecting one’s own priorities. Teeth whitening the taste buds for greater effect. Praises finally giving the logical praise the taste it deserves. More surrounding areas include a broader crowd. A newer logical taste starts to emerge in the practice of ingredients giving logical praise to the logical priorities that govern it so. Praise from newer surroundings influencing more ingredients in the form of logical taste. More taste buds start feeling the diversities in the praise which salivates the practice of logical assessments. A reverse act giving rise to a simplified logical taste without boundaries.
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 9:55 PM UTC
It's hard out here for an automaton
the sun is hot on my metal
Over heats my copper wire
Causes all manner of motor malfunctions
System failures
In cold winter days the residual wetness I step in
shorts my circuits
and shocks my partners
I am fond of small coffee shop nooks with outlets.
I don't need to travel too far to recharge
And since I'm so shiny
often briefcases and lipstick come around
sit their lattes on my discarded instruction manual pages
To offer me oil
I will let them insert the Nettie *** shaped disk where they choose
it's rough being a clock work boy
I set myself to operate
at three hours before is necessary in case
I'm distracted by some new upgrade or need
to document another error message.
they never write me back,
bronze looks good on thigh plates
I had this woman notice my key today
protruding from my back
the translucent panel showing into all my cogs and gears
she said she wanted to turn it
back, so she could see my program
run it from the beginning again.
I warned her, turning the key
would only turn back me.
I would rather let the program run on it's natural course,
sure, I'll get closer to the end, but I'm a curious construct
haven't seen the end of my functionality yet
woman keep coming up and asking me to turn back the key
and I am weak,
but don't worry I said
if I run out of energy, you can always turn the key back.
I'll play it all over and you can remember.
She didn't like the idea of doing the same thing over either
she turned the key, waited for it to run out,
left me on the doorstep for some other person to turn back on.
it's hard out here for an automaton.
the sun is hot on my metal
over heating my copper wiring causing all manner
of motor malfunctions
and system failures.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
It all comes down to the point of sale
where will it take you
what will it say
will it last
the posed question -
Does functionality
mesh with enjoyment?
Or will it lead to a return
to a life simpler, or more bare.
You choose.
His impressionable desire
lies within the visage of transaction
the tipping point
plagued by a facade or
impregnated with passion
A mix of both does the world fine
each art a separate truth
for a path beknownst to the two breeds.
When does it become known to all
without a ploy, truth dusted with smoke
The target no longer the focus
but the focus of mass involvement
in a movement so confidential
They gather to protest the knowledge sought.
Feeding the electrical color of the enemy
allowing for a dry flood to choke the air
keeping the gray alive.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
You aren't entirely charmed to being whipped, if you don't take a moment to see what being merely "whipped" is even about. Showboating a charmed effect for something other than something else to "whip" itself back into shape! Lust! Ecstasy! All charmed effects without anything being whipped normally. When being whipped by a single charm defies ALL expectations for normal anticipations to fall prey to. Creating a very frustrating hypnotism functionality. Whilst also creating a very flustered trance that none can escape alone!
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 8:55 PM UTC
*The insidious wrath of age has pilfered her beauty ..
Rusted chains hang in quietude , wrenched in dubious functionality ....
Superfluous stockyards , fencing long in need of repairs ..
Barns that once bustled with the drudgery of agriculture can only whisper ..
Wind chimes trill in the cold afternoon , the crack of the hammer to the anvil gone ..
Tractor implements lie frozen , a lone Crow stands guard over barren orchards* ..
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
Its not real in reality
But it lives through mentality
Mind was built from basic human functionality
So Body can live through the death of reality
Survive by the book of strategy
You could get it from divinity
Trapped in a place called society
Everything falls like tragedies
When mind travels through fantasy
Body gets left behind in reality
So there can be solutions for mystery
The wise one said use weapons of positivity
But how will it stop negative infinity
Dumbstruck by the variables of possibility
The geniuses flee from the laboratory
Isn't this whole thing insanity?
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
There is a sound in a house when it’s occupants have left for the day and it isn’t silence.
It’s more of a dull collective hum of electrical appliances enjoying the chance to indulge their expression without the need to shout over humans.
There is the echo of words whispered in soft tones and the violent ones exchanged in heated debate, also the screams and laughter and the bark of dogs.
There is the sound of unfolded washing, waiting patiently to be transitioned from unkempt mess to organised functionality in a drawer or cupboard.
Their sound before such a transformation is heavy and unlovable, but once the task of folding is completed, they fall silent, thankful to have reached their destiny this week before their new cycle of destruction of order begins.
Toys, where does one start with the sound of toys in the absence of playmates. Their sound is dependent on how loved they are and how much time they have left before they, like a wife after 20 years of marriage, are replaced by the upgraded model, the new and better version.
But it’s the breakfast things, the things left on the table, half eaten toast and a mauled boiled egg that have the most sound.
It’s the sound of a dwindling life force struggling against its fate to be recycled in the compost, like us.
That sound is a deafening silent scream of a resistance to endings, an inevitable journey back into nothing.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
at age three, my preschool teacher told me,
"Some ships are admired for their beauty,
and such ships will sink.
Ships that are functional,
however,
will never be admired as the other ships are.
I think you have the perfect mix of
beauty and functionality."
since age three,
both my beauty and functionality
have dropped dramatically to depths never explored
by this species.
i am a mess,
too much hate runs through these veins
and somehow i am a very angry person.
but i have a talent very few possess.
i have vision.
not beauty.
not functionality.
vision.
i can see things in ways they have not been construed.
i look at a passage and see twenty different ways to interpret it.
i am a master of metaphors.
i see a flower and see what it was and what it is and what it will be.
but what happens to the ship that is not sat at docks being fawned over,
or the ship that is not the fastest?
what happens to the ship that can see the best possible path?
does it get to its destination quicker?
or does it go off track because of the amazing beauty it's chasing.
what happens to such ships?
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
“give me your linguistic promiscuity”^ Cyrano to Roxane
trifle me not with sugar and spice,
give me salt, and everything not nice,
Campari, with a spritz of lime bitters, doubling,
the bitter sexiness of your taste buds
on the private parts of mine mind
the body’s parts held a conference,
who is the most important of us all,
all spoke, touting their unique servicing functionality,
at last, lastly, the tongue spoke
“none so powerful as this itty bitty muscle-me,
for with a chosen-few, well claimed, words whispered,
can put all of us in a prison cell to rot collectively,
utilizing my linguistic promiscuity, enticements seductive
so beware the disastrous dissatisfied tongue,
needy for 24/7 accoladed attention,
fail to worship can result in bee stinging poetry,
and jealousy
my love is bitter, my taste buds glory in this wondrous horror”
except for my Roxane
<>
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
. I was born with a defect.
It has a great impact.
One testacle, one less
Than everyone else.
I can't tell my partner.
She'll think less of me then.
Aren't they supposed to be a symbol
Of manliness? One less thimble
Of mass, results in a loss
Of ounces of courage,
And a weight of tonnes
On my shoulders.
I've been led into
Believing manhood is paramount.
Without it, I'm less of a person,
Less of a reason
To be whom I should; to be desired.
It's hard to stop thinking it
When it's you yourself telling it.
External influences become internal doctrine.
Inescapably real, incessantly there.
Loss of masculinity,
Yet retaining functionality.
It seems people never notice something's wrong
As long as you appear to act 'normally'.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
That manipulative shot glass-
blew my brains with black n blue ***** bullets
and with blinded passion and mixed emotions,
I glided gently off my high bar stool,
and found myself nestled neatly
on my ****
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 9, 2009 at 7:38 AM UTC
They flip out if One "owes" them a Thousand Dollars
but they don't do **** about
our $11,959,000,000,000 deficit
(or about 75% of the GDP)
except raise the debt ceiling
and shut down day-to-day processes
thus letting functionality grind to a halt
so they can still afford to pay themselves
their precious and exorbitant salaries,
whilst every-fucking-thing else
deteriorates by the minute
and is foreclosed upon.
**I think that we as a Nation should instate
that Politicians are unable to pay themselves
until we have a surplus of money
with which to reward them
for their keen, honest, wise and diligent* (get this: ) *Public Service;
*rather than allowing them to serve themselves
well above the supposed "Land of the Free"
they supposedly represent
supposedly so selflessly.*
The System is ****** for us, as citizens;
though it works exactly as designed
for those holding the marionette strings.**
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
A pearly luminosity, and five endless lines live in perfect functionality,
but make the picture of a signpost hold the dust of dim-lit destiny.
It seems to have nothing in the day,
and only once night has come does the charm of this
common intersection show its color.
Grace in form and abundance in solidarity.
I walk across the moon in bare feet.
I stand looking at its beauty in the street.
The days go by, the winds, they change,
and part of me is yet estranged,
but still gleaming on is that lamppost;
Never to want or to die.
Never tasting joy, nor ever inclined to cry.
The pavement goes forth in solemn, straight lines,
like the unquenchable flow of space, and of time.
but just for one moment I see a face in the night.
It calls out my window and beacons with light.
Right right right they stand, save Catherine,
on the left. She’s set herself apart;
unyielding to command.
Nowhere else has a lamp-post been such a lady.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
What thoughts most admirable to take the emotional avenue to create to see in your mind a one of a
Kind person get the soul right and then move to the exterior that which would be seen and interacted
With for a life time what an undertaking but what else could make such sparks and the tremendous
Emotional swell to go to this place stand before the quietest shimmering possibilities a personality like
No other accepting the fact there would be common traits that everyone has but this is special this is
Horrendous in the idea no tolerance for error can exist this new person with functionality of will and
Freedom to express it demands nothing less so lies social justice and order then the operation of
Communicating what extreme place of awe you have to stand at to attempt this feat the tone the
Measure it will exact in the human drama of life seemingly simple but genius throughout in form and
Substance a constant flow that was the sum total of exquisite harnessed displayed in ordinary you need
To think on these matters when negatives penetrate the operational defense they should die as you
Contemplate how marvelously and wonderfully you are made your being passes the greatest minds and
Achievements our language is beset and besieged for a temporary time so the best we offer is listen
Here buster but behind that there is an imprisoned intellect that is now subject to the winding and trifle
Terms of existence but in those confines what beauty what treasure is hinted at the suppressed holds
Such revered qualities if we could get this psychiatry would be reduced greatly what a storehouse you
Are every need in human existence is there every fixation has deep roots foundational bedrock you
Were mined in a divine realm your feet are weighted to earth but over riding this is spirit that can’t be
Held completely to the functions of the body what immortal springs call to you as you have a thirst for
Them nothing else will satisfy why else is there such unexplained anxiety the Psychiatrist can’t give this
Answer because they follow the same path that is ignorance that parades as intelligent comprehensive
Analysis which you can plainly judge as ineffective and man trying to answer spiritual complexity with
Limited understanding I guess it is hard to unravel the statement that we are all fearfully and
Wonderfully made this writing comes from me looking at your picture truth truly will set you free
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC