"functioned" poems
Apon are arrival once at times seemed questionable
We were greated by none.
hawaii had spoiled us to all other airport experiences
Were else could a half hunover yet slighty buzzed madman
stumble from a plane to encounter a beautiful woman in a grass
and cocunut bra once even now made me thirst for for a pina collada.
But in in canada there was nothing to greet us there but cold
As we stumbbled around dressed like soon to be doomed criminals awaitting trial.
Cananda its slogan should have been.
Welcome to Cannada it's really ******* cold.
But we knew where to find warmth in this enviroment.
Or for that matter any enviroment.
For we were drunks or as i liked to think of it consistant drinkers
And on are journey into this land of freezing weather maple syrup
and ice hockey.
We had one true goal.
we had come to drink Cannada dry.
No bar would untouched No bottle would not know are name.
we would hit on many women.
Score with a few and say we had slept with many.
I was a religeous man and i need to get in touch with with the spirts
The spirts of Canadian mist Jim beam And my old stand by spirt Gin
It was a bold mission for which we had set forth.
Are livers were alredy beaten to almost a pulp but
we still somehow still walked and functioned in disquise of
semi normal human beings but nothing was further from the truth
we were writters was ment we were professional crazy people
On a mission to depleet this icey land of its alcohol
an drink canada dry
Oct 18, 2009
Oct 18, 2009 at 12:34 PM UTC
I don't remember
Let's go back in time then
Rewind the mind
Like a VCR
Remember those?
I was 17, maybe
Like a baby
basic and small
a simple kind of life
Not this staggering strife
He & me
21 with no job and a place of his own
"Cool."
We we're cool.
And it functioned
And my cellphone was always close-by
And everything he said echoed nicely
And we we're "us"
And it was "what we're gonna do"
And it's dead now
What?
Yeah.
We might not have a gravesite
But I swear I visit it anyway -
And I think it's cool
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
“I know what you’re thinking.”
Do you?
You can’t read me like an open book.
You have no idea what I truly think.
What makes you so sure I even see you as a friend like the way you see me?
You see me
as a studious girl, diligently finishing my work
as an intelligent girl, acing the tests in the subjects I’m good at
as a responsible girl, always carrying out my duties with zeal and efficiency
as a kind hearted girl, courteous and honest
You also see me
as a mean girl who gossips about others
as a conceited girl who brags on and on about herself
as a selfish girl who does things only if it is to her benefit
as a coward who is afraid of so many things
as a lazy *** who does nothing in weekends
The list goes on.
Just because you see the good and the bad of me, you think
you know me.
Do you?
Don’t be too quick to answer that question.
You will never know the nights I spend going insane
thinking about myself
thinking about you
thinking about others
You will never know about the times when I breakdown into a useless emotional wreck
with the tiniest action from someone
You will never know about the certain few nights and what I did to myself
and how I cry
on and on, nails digging deep into my palms, on and on, uncontrollably hyperventilating, on and on… even when I don’t want to.
You will never know about the content in my diary
what these words really mean
what my purposes are
You will never know about the way my brain is wired
about the way I see the world
about the way my mind is poisoned, tainted, corrupted, trained to manipulate, functioned to lie.
You don’t know me even if you think you do.
You don’t know about how much I fear myself while I type these words
while I’m thinking about the pain in my heart and how it is therapeutic.
My lips are parched, my throat is dry, my breath is coming out in slow deliberate long breaths.
My mind stays warped, damaged and tainted.
The edges of my eyes hurt from too much rubbing.
My heart is still hurting, as it does every day and night.
My eyes stay shut as I think about how I am going to survive tomorrow.
You ask me why I hate everyone. You ask me why I am so pessimistic. You ask me why I am so irritable. You ask me so many questions and you say
“I know what you’re thinking.”
Do you
when I don’t even know myself anymore?
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
I miss my voice.
I miss speaking clearly with precision.
With words attempting to paint a vision.
Consistent monotonous syllables pouring
from a mouth connected to a brain that
functioned at a quick pace and found
each word a place.
A learned habit.
Diligently sought.
Quickly forgot.
But I celebrate.
Words will flow freely,
my brain will think purely,
words will be sublime.
With ease I will speak,
with the display of tender
and meek,
reflecting the God I seek,
proof that Christ makes
the strong from the weak.
No worries.
No fears.
Knowing love.
Crying joyful tears.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
I was born twice
On the same date of the same month
With just a gap of forty years
First accidentally and then chose to
Twelfth in the count,
Not a meticulous plan; it just happened
"More the merrier, give wind its wings"
Said the rain soaked August night
When I was born first
I could not choose the date or time
Neither what to bring on or take away
It just happened, with a resounding cry
First, I was born into a house
As a son, with a mom and a papa
As a brother with sisters and brothers
Everyone felt happy and shared sweets
Then, without a death or a reincarnation
I took another birth after those forty years
I chose the same date to birth,
Control+Alt+Delete, the keys functioned
Then, I was born out of the house
Without a mom and a dad
Without a brother or a sister
Without joy or even a cry
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
Raindrops shattered as they broke their fall on sturdy branches,
which birthed little, leafy sprouts
and nurtured them to grow into brilliant fruits of the spirit,
each bearing a unique mold; a hue all its own.
These fruits were created by the gentle hand of God,
delicately formed to grow into bright, beautiful masterpieces.
The fruits dwelled peacefully, each on their proper tree in good health and condition.
That is, until the farmer’s market faltered,
and a new farmer cam into control on this farm with lovely fruit
to examine the complexities
and deem the impurities for which he blamed the lack of prosperity.
These fruits were banished from the farm,
sent to disposals to rid the farm of their unwanted presence.
It took the members of this farmer’s market nearly six long years
to understand the lack of necessity of this farmer’s technique
and to liberate these fruits from the grasp of his wrath.
But by then the damage was done-
and the farm has never functioned quite the same.
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 5:42 PM UTC
I've always known you.
For the past few months, you're all i've experienced.
I saw another though,
he sparked my interest.
You thought I was replacing you,
but I would never.
I was merely exploring different things.
He was nothing like I had ever experienced.
Rough and tough and soft and meek,
all at the same time.
Nothing like the broken little heart of yours.
I was infatuated by every aspect of his being.
The way he walked, talked, functioned, and gleamed.
You spent your time crying for me to come back.
But I wanted him now, and he wanted me.
You left me.
You wanted me to be with you more than you wanted me happy.
You forgot all the memories we made.
The afternoons we spent together,
and the songs we sang as loud as we possibly could.
You left it all, because he made me happy in a way you could not.
I love him, and you can't stand it.
I guess you're gone now.
I'm not sure if our paths will ever cross again,
but in case they do...
I would have never left you,
he still makes me happy,
but I still would have made time for you.
He's here to stay, of that I am sure.
So goodbye, forever.
You don't need me anymore.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
I've been taught about pride.
in this security, we tend to push aside what is significant.
but this said trait, as some say, could make you a name.
it could earn you respect and make you feel triumphant
I've always been reminded of these simple words
words that have oddly functioned well for me:
"dont go when they push you away,
leave when they insist that you stay."
but be warned;
for it could break you so much as it can protect you.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
People repeatedly tell me everyday that I overthink every situation; I always have to think of the worst possible outcome.
I guess I am this way because I am a writer...my brain is functioned differently from everyone else who does not use a paper and pencil to let out all the feelings.
Some people can use their words verbally to explain their feelings, but I am different.
My brain thinks of words, metaphors, the truth.
My mouth stutters, shuts, and stays closed.
Writing is the only way I can truly express myself,
I was given hands to write the words my mouth cannot conjure up.
My brain is my weapon,
My brain is my power,
My writing is who I am.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
Though I appreciate art, the likes of Romel, and Van Gogh,
Why waste a simple blip of time staring at a photo?
When I can just call out her name, feel her warmth, see her face.
You can't close something that was never opened in the first place.
Hence this album, not displayed, was aged beyond it's looks,
It didn't even ware, we only opened other books.
With no need to reminisce and new moments being made,
We'd always been together, strong connections never fade.
But now I sit here solitary, all alone, a noble gas,
Flipping pages, gazing slowly through a book about our past.
My poetic voice was turned to slur, it left me, effervescence,
Her attitude, the glow she had; demeanor luminescent.
Was it her winning grin and perfect skin that gained all my affection;
Or her innocence, so bold, yet pure that warrented protection?
Could it have been her smile, that smile, that made me want to make her laugh?
Yes, that smile, that smile, my lovely perfect other half.
When I humored her, she humored me, we functioned as a pair,
Everything was perfect, pure commitment always fair.
In all our years, in all that time I'd never gotten more,
Butterflies than when she made that look that I adored.
Unfortunately death was something she could not evade
Unfortunately death is never easily delayed.
Looking down and thinking back to the way that things had been
I can't help but shed a tear and ironically still grin.
Though I appreciate art, the likes of the right ear of Van Gogh
This album, now so precious, is all I have to show.
My life became this incomplete on the day this earth she left.
For Life is platinum in a bank, and death is just the theft.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
She longs to fit in, and feel like she's wanted,
The neverendingness of being laughed at and taunted.
Doesn't consider the future, or what her loved ones would think
She puts that bottle to her lips and gulps down a swig-
She forces down a few more, as her friends do as well
The dizziness kicks in and the headaches excel
She's completely indifferent, taken over by her mind
Her body is functioned in all ways unkind
In the morning is only when she figures out
The ones she thought who were friends, she knew nothing about.
A real friend would pull you away from that situation
Instead they were amused by her risky contemplation.
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 3:24 PM UTC
-
lying on a closet floor
that stretches for over
two decades—
memories
messages, pictures and songs
from back in the day stored
inaccessibly in a rusting box
that has not functioned in years
and next to it, a laptop with a
deployed CD tray sits sideways
partially draped by a sheet
these machines may have
shared stories once,
but its doubtful they really
knew each other
—
miles away in a nursing home
a petrified brain rests in some
kind of medicated peace
while another lays quietly on his
side under a blanket watching
for the other one's last breath
hearing kids just outside
laughing into their devices —
he hopes for a chance to take
his last spin on –anyone's–
old record player...
s jones
2021
.
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 5:59 AM UTC
Hating at first
Not getting into any attachment
No intention to love
Never been imagined to
But now, I am looking for your shadow
Your shadow your face mask
You used to wear day by day
A statement started
And I can't help it not getting any close to you
No matter how I tried my best
To let it burst for others
I just can't
Time, effort, my ingredients
To catch your attention
And give me some
As time slowly walked by
Your shadow leaves you
A current flows in you
Creating your own and conquering my own
And I find myself longing to be with
No second, no minute, no hour, no day passed that I don't dream
Now and then, everything has changed
Like me, you show no interest
Aback was the impact
It soothes within me
And functioned in my brain
That connects everything
You leave me broken just like the others did
From being strangers to totally strangers at all
And crying is all I can do
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
The first drop of Rain,
and I inhaled it.
The wind was silent,
But it tore me apart.
The sand melted-
underground with the leaves beneath.
The clouds were perfect but;
There was something I had to know.
I dedicated myself.I lost it all.
My soul was dead,Oh!
I was a mere body.
Too late to realize though,
that drop dis-functioned my veins.
My heart needed blood but,
I had already cried it out.
And now the rain won't stop.
That first drop of Rain-
I wish I didn't inhale.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
a lot cooler
if you did restore HP
to old-school functionality
when things, like, functioned
consistently. reliably. simply.
there are so many
little things *******
that I overlook because
this place is part of me and
how I speak
it’s our mouthpiece for
soul love light dark scenes
so, just make it work
for our inners
and, plz -
do.
some.
testing.
kludgey af workaround:
save poem as draft
edit draft and save as public
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
I swear
Last night
As I lay awake
You sighed
With satisfaction
From the kitchen
Where we used to drink it all in.
I swear
This morning
As I lost myself to work
Covered in paint
Swimming in words
Lost at a pen's tip
Your hands
Toyed with my hair
Your lips
Caressed my neck.
I swear
You're here
I can't see you
But with every passing day
I feel you
I've heard its phantom limb
You always were a part of me
So connected
We functioned as one.
I still sleep
Tangled in your arms
I still eat
With your fingers
Tracing my skin
You haunt me
Every moment
Every day
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Before you, I never knew an "us."
I came and left as I pleased because I could.
Understanding it didn't hurt me to do so. At all.
Maybe the people I met felt a different connection.
Maybe the weather was brighter for them and the colors more vivid.
Then, in the middle of the sweltering summer heat, you were there.
Wearing a Casio watch that also functioned as a calculator with a half-smoked cigarette in your fingers, nails painted black.
You were so, you. Raw. Unfabricated.
And I loved it.
I loved you.
How we chain-smoked cigarettes and how you wrapped your arms around my waist while I heard the most euphoric laugh ever.
I wish I realized how similar we were. That for us, this was a first.
To wake up so early to meet someone and feel as if each step gets lighter as we near. To whisper in the dark while being unable to close the proximity between us, but feeling the tension of needing to.
You were not another piece on the chessboard.
For me you were real.
And I can't bring myself to provoke a conversation, but I’m thankful.
And wish I could’ve gotten to know “us” longer.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 3:10 PM UTC
I've always drifted in a dark place,
Dancing in the shadows,
Flirting with demise.
I've been this way for so long,
I didn't know what I was missing.
Not until a spark of life,
Grew into a flame.
A spark of happiness,
That turned into an explosion.
I functioned!
I saw!
I felt!
I embraced it,
enjoying life for the first time,
But at the same time,
Trying to shut it out.
I hated it because I knew it would leave.
How can I go back to the shadows after being in the light?
But you can't stop the inevitable..
Back to the shadows,
I drifted.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
In July I lost naivety
Well, I did not lose all
But some of it has been strewn around
In July my heart stopped
It relapsed because I gave it to you
To you to use instead of yours
because surely a black heart
it could not beat?
In July I shoved it all aside
No, in fact, I multitasked with one sole focus
I functioned while watching at the side line
I reached my goal while looking down
In July I gave it all
But now is now and it's come in
The magnitude has struck
The heart has been returned
But I can't wash off the black
I can't scrub off the seriousness
In October I regained my heart
But lost all the more because of it.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
APPLICATION FORM
Once I was in love.
I loved love.
Wanted to serve it.
Loved it when it functioned good.
Then it fell apart.
My heart is merely cardiac.
If you heat it slowly,
Give it a gentle simmer
Somewhere in the future,
may dwell a subtle glimmer.
If I look in the mirror,
I see no future love,
The mirror may be my security.
Can only visualise it,
from own imperfect point of view.
I am not a pessimist,
my glass, always half full.
Looking at the situation, as I stand,
I am nobodies loving fool.
On top of that I'm lonely,
but, I stash that as my secret,
I'm such a stubborn ****** ***
A ****** *** all full of class.
I jest, In fact
I'm just a very loving,
poetry writing pest.
(c) Livvi
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
i was a chest of treasures
and you opened me up and unpacked all the drawers
you took out the stories
you admired the knick knacks with fervent curiosity
and unveiled long-forgotten images of times past.
you showed your friends
and you called your mother to tell her what you found inside
"marvelous things"
that's what you called them.
you told people on the street about your treasure chest.
some thought you were crazy, but you didn't care.
you kept that treasure chest close
you were fond of it and opened it often
and you believed with the strongest conviction that it would continue to surprise you.
you appreciated its exterior, with its warped wood and rusted metal,
and how even covered in scratches it functioned as a vessel for something good.
when others found treasure chests too,
you didn't bat an eye.
because your treasure chest was trusted, strong and always by your side.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC
light explained be told desribed in physics books
photons waves and quantums
has no
shine like your eyes
gems dug from ground the biggest diamonds
no gem shines as bright
as your smile
lights up the night shinier
than stars or moons might ever do
no nuclear reaction is more reactive
or powerful than the
slightest touch of your flesh
on mine no
Shakespeare and me might come
close to painting in words
we pale
and wither in
your glow
sunshine tongues cannot
say how much
or letters portray
I shut up
you are ecstasy know now how
sun light moon stars
quantity functioned
to a point of infinity has never known
you your face or time like this
Where light exceeds its speed and time stops
physics fail to describe
art strives to portray
man seeks everywhere.
Heaven only promises.
I found it.
here in you
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 4:56 AM UTC
I've never been a perfect girl
Had perfect friends
Functioned with a perfect mind
Or flirt with perfect boys
I'm rather broken you'd say
Don't add up to much most days
Add up to nothing at all most nights
So what
So what if i'm not who I was supposed to be
Cause I'm me
And it doesn't add up
But i'm no good with numbers anyways
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC