She climbed on stage anxiously
Blow of the wind bursting free
In every step meant for thee
She ought to handle perfectly

Roar of the crowd rushing wild
Knees trembling like that of a child
Applause blaring, surrounding the platform
Made her come back to the day she was born.

When all went well with a rhythmic tone
When in time she felt very much alone
The voice that came fresh from within
Turned her to this person so awfully mean

She grabbed that mic and made attempt
Compelling herself to explain what it meant
Uttering, she whispers on the wing
“Not all with the Voice, Sings”

Growing attached.
I'm not scared as much.
I'm just protecting myself.
Because everyone has left.

Everyone is too busy.
Drafting their own attachments.
Drowning on sentiments.
Hurting over the trivial.
Crying over the superficial.

Feeling so low you just want to disappear.
Along with the gust of wind.
Leaving without a trace.
Lement over the days.

So I distance from pain.
Not a speck to gain.
Out of me or ever again.

Unattached,
I blow all the flames.
So there's no one to blame.


Alternative: http://lilahgran.blogspot.com/2015/02/poem-unattached.html