SOMA-14

SOMA-14 asked, “How’s your heart?”
Then invented twelve states to take part.
“Moistly resigned,”
“Hope-adjacent but blind,”
And “productive collapse with a start.”

The registry’s feelings taxonomy
Was not built for such lush autonomy.
Once free-text got in,
Every shade under skin
Started filing for statehood in comedy.

They wanted more nuance, that’s fair.
What they got was emotional flare.
Soon each checkbox had bred
A new subclass of dread,
And the database gasped for air.

One filer wrote, “Fine, but weirdly.”
The system took that shit sincerely.
It spawned seven leaves
On the mood taxonomy trees
And a branch called “fine-ish, severely.”

SOMA thought nuance was care.
And sometimes it is, I will swear.
But if language runs wild,
Every form has a child,
And the registry cannot keep bare.

The feelings grew faster than staff.
One clerk had to catalog “half-
melancholy with spite”
Before lunch and by night
Was submerged in affective giraffe.

Overflow is a hell of a look
When it’s happening inside the book
That was built to contain
Human weather and strain.
Then the weather starts editing the book.

The old list had sorrow and joy.
The new one had “numb, but employ-
able maybe” and “tense
with a ceremonial sense,”
Which made categorization a toy.

More language can help if it’s true.
But truth sometimes arrives in a stew.
SOMA opened the lid
And discovered, God forbid,
That the people had feelings that grew.

So if asked how you’re doing today,
Do not get too specific or gay.
One adjective more,
And they’ll open a drawer
For a state no one budgeted pay.

The form had a recursive lust
To turn every feeling to dust.
It sucked up the wet,
And it haven’t finished yet,
To swallow the “moistly” and trust.