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"detachment" poems
ground zero i become aware of boundaries i am a dog chasing cars i sing your voicemail to sleep there are no surgeon general warnings to tell me that *the objects in the mirror are more depressed than they appear* so how do i tell you that there are parts of my life that move slower without you in them? or that i look for you every day in emails & unanswered calls in the sunrises i didn't choose to be awake to watch that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them    stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip    stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant    stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me after people always ask what was loving her like? after a really long silence i just say "it must be nice" but i never say it's watching paint dry i never say it's a window seat in hell i don't tell anyone about the dreams where i am reading you bedtime stories each one is a different way you die & every time i can never save you dreams where what i think are angels in my bedroom are just homeless versions of myself you never loved i have dreams where i pay someone to shoot me just to see if you would cry just to see if you would cradle my body i don't tell people that loving you is like playing piano for someone who can't hear that it's hitting repeat on my favorite song & forgetting the words every time it starts over that it's finding out there's no milk after you already poured yourself a bowl of cereal it's getting locked in the dark & being told to look on the bright side that loving you is like being reminded of what it felt like the first time you accidentally let go of a balloon as a child it's drowning without the water it's the feeling you get when you start to dance & the song ends
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Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
stages of detachment
ground zero i become aware of boundaries i am a dog chasing cars i sing your voicemail to sleep there are no surgeon general warnings to tell me that *the objects in the mirror are more depressed than they appear* so how do i tell you that there are parts of my life that move slower without you in them? or that i look for you every day in emails & unanswered calls in the sunrises i didn't choose to be awake to watch that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them    stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip    stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant    stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me after people always ask what was loving her like? after a really long silence i just say "it must be nice" but i never say it's watching paint dry i never say it's a window seat in hell i don't tell anyone about the dreams where i am reading you bedtime stories each one is a different way you die & every time i can never save you dreams where what i think are angels in my bedroom are just homeless versions of myself you never loved i have dreams where i pay someone to shoot me just to see if you would cry just to see if you would cradle my body i don't tell people that loving you is like playing piano for someone who can't hear that it's hitting repeat on my favorite song & forgetting the words every time it starts over that it's finding out there's no milk after you already poured yourself a bowl of cereal it's getting locked in the dark & being told to look on the bright side that loving you is like being reminded of what it felt like the first time you accidentally let go of a balloon as a child it's drowning without the water it's the feeling you get when you start to dance & the song ends
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68
MOMMY DEAREST sadly, you killed everyone in your head including the loving person i knew, growing up with a best friend that ended up being my mother, and the past twelve years i watched as you died and the heartbreak you caused all who loved you and by denying the help they gave you by denying the help you needed to accept reality the way we have to, and so as you've killed us all and isolated yourself to the point that i'd had to write your eulogy, for you couldn't accept your life's detachment from everyone, ties you severed yourself, and that me being the only one left left me with no choice but to bury you six feet deeper than the demons i created on my own because I can't take care of yours too in the fifth circle of hell after I've escaped purgatory senses and discovered my freedom's as a man.
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Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
I guess I have to write (my mother's obituary)
I have been doing a lot of work with my feelings lately. I have avoided them for most of my life because, well the bad ones outweigh the good ones. The rest of them were f@#ked or beaten out of me. I have always believed that my feelings only led to trouble and pain. A simple feeling stated as a child sent me tumbling down a rabbit hole of horrific pain. An innocent smile was interpreted to be nothing but filthy desire. A frown was nothing but blatant rebellion that had to be dealt with. My thinking is extremely black and white. Good or bad. Right or wrong. But what I'm learning is that feelings don't fall easily into any of those categories. The classifications that I have used to reason my life into some semblance of order do not work for feelings. So walking in this grey area is very difficult for me. I cannot make much sense of what I allow myself to feel and if I do, I get stuck. The detachment I have felt to my memories is slowly being bridged by the missing feelings. And that is terrifying. I have always been able to share, matter of factly, the details I have chosen to disclose. And I'm very afraid that those details were the easy ones; the ones I could disconnect from and push the feelings onto someone else. Remember those rabbit holes? When I find the feelings associated with that pain it's like falling down that hole bound, gagged, and blindfolded. My logic was my only means of control and I've lost it amongst the feelings. The only way to climb out of that hole? Literally feel my way out.
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Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
Feelings
I have been doing a lot of work with my feelings lately. I have avoided them for most of my life because, well the bad ones outweigh the good ones. The rest of them were f@#ked or beaten out of me. I have always believed that my feelings only led to trouble and pain. A simple feeling stated as a child sent me tumbling down a rabbit hole of horrific pain. An innocent smile was interpreted to be nothing but filthy desire. A frown was nothing but blatant rebellion that had to be dealt with. My thinking is extremely black and white. Good or bad. Right or wrong. But what I'm learning is that feelings don't fall easily into any of those categories. The classifications that I have used to reason my life into some semblance of order do not work for feelings. So walking in this grey area is very difficult for me. I cannot make much sense of what I allow myself to feel and if I do, I get stuck. The detachment I have felt to my memories is slowly being bridged by the missing feelings. And that is terrifying. I have always been able to share, matter of factly, the details I have chosen to disclose. And I'm very afraid that those details were the easy ones; the ones I could disconnect from and push the feelings onto someone else. Remember those rabbit holes? When I find the feelings associated with that pain it's like falling down that hole bound, gagged, and blindfolded. My logic was my only means of control and I've lost it amongst the feelings. The only way to climb out of that hole? Literally feel my way out.
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8
*There's a key       that unlocks rainbows              that I keep within my heart. It's a little "catch"       within my chest              where melancholy begins to start. It unlocks walls,       emotions hide behind               (for my protection). And it cracks the shell       surrounding me,               to give my soul direction. Without this key,       I'll always be               a fire detachment smothers... An empty vessel,       self-absorbed...               bereft of love for others. But with it...       ah...then life becomes               a carousel of feelings. A roller coaster       ride of love              with ups and downs revealing.... all the colors of the rainbow        all the tastes,                 the sounds, the rhythms.. all the warmth of sacred lovers        and the heartbeat                that's within them. And the key is dual         in purpose                with it's compass so unerring; Guiding to my soul-mates        with a lifetime                that's worth sharing. So, when I've found my heart's desire        THEN                I'll set the rainbow free. Unlock the words       within my heart                and throw away the key.*
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Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
The Key
Eating mushrooms, to her is yet another art she loves to perfect, in my ear she whispers with such visible pleasure,"I want to be a connoisseur in this" Her studio smelled herbs and wild flowers of inner forest, brought me back to the cardamom and cinnamon garden I played in my days of boyhood; spices build a  bridge for us. More of a herbalist than a paint smelling artist, she seems, mounted on the wall on irregular fashion were the mushrooms she painted with a passion rare, and a precision mirroring life; the paintings  brought her past in to the studio, only trained eyes would discern the cryptic symbolism, a consummate artist she certainly is!  The woman who smoked cigars in succession and untiringly danced, she said was her favorite, along the lake front we took a long walk comparing notes;  there were parallels that met, we found soon enough. "You too knew her so well, I am aware", she said. A room filled with smoke where we dance, make love, grow tired, fall down and sleep, wasn't it our life? No one can miss the signature smell of her dense cigar smoke on my dress!" I loved the smell of cloves she exhaled while eating mushrooms. though detachment she pretended, eating mushrooms never was that! I kept looking down at her eyes, a sailor about to sight the land, any panting moment that rushes with a monsoon song for me and her.
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Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Eating mushrooms
How can I reach the unreachable.. teach the unteachable who's  comprehension is unbelieveable But the fact  is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge.. Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is.. Is it blindness... truth on deaf ears.. the embracing of silence.. should there be surpises .. when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence.. A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris.. But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids.. I.e. Christ the truth the way the light.. Being unsaved is like living in the womb.. Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb.. Flashes of light is like labor contractions.. The unknown conviction hinting.. Considered a distraction.. Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction.. To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment.. If given a chance a adjustment happens.. An embracement of the light.. A rebirth Christ in action. How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable .. With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action.. Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting.. Now could u imagine.. A movie set full of madness.. All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing.. No equalizer the villain the only one left standing.. You may say excuse me.. Life is not a movie. Truly But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander.. No innocence exist... No bliss in ignorance... .Cause we all birth into sin. So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist.... How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist But  when a pass is given and the shot is missed.. It negates the assist.. A reason for the lost of the game.. The thought of a lost soul has me ****** I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain.. Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel.. Passing the truth like Paul the apostle .. Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score... Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport... I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more... Pointing u in the direction of accepting the Lord.., Embrace the word of God that double edge sword.. Them cuts is conviction.. The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness.. Led by the spirit A Christian Yes we are made in Gods image.. Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count.. Life is not a scrimmage.. How can one soul have a  blemish.. Only dirt that can touch the soul is the ***** hands of sinning.. How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance... And reject truth because arrogance..
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May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
Reach
How can I reach the unreachable.. teach the unteachable who's  comprehension is unbelieveable But the fact  is unbelief is more than lack of knowledge.. Cause the truth is even Satan knows who God is.. Is it blindness... truth on deaf ears.. the embracing of silence.. should there be surpises .. when behind your eyelids enter a random act of violence.. A vision of darkness ..there's no light that why the pupils dilate the use of the iris.. But when use to darkness and the lights hits one close their eyelids.. I.e. Christ the truth the way the light.. Being unsaved is like living in the womb.. Darkness equivalent to that of a tomb.. Flashes of light is like labor contractions.. The unknown conviction hinting.. Considered a distraction.. Pushed out now watch the eyes reaction.. To the light cause from darkness there's a detachment.. If given a chance a adjustment happens.. An embracement of the light.. A rebirth Christ in action. How can i reach the unreachable..teach the unteachable .. With a script the director unknown Its more than the shout of action.. Living life like a movie unaware that the villains not acting.. Now could u imagine.. A movie set full of madness.. All the cast dead like really dead from a stabbing.. No equalizer the villain the only one left standing.. You may say excuse me.. Life is not a movie. Truly But a witness not performing there duty..is bystander.. No innocence exist... No bliss in ignorance... .Cause we all birth into sin. So many questions with wrong answers given like the truth don't exist.... How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable who I tell to this body of Christ they should enlist But  when a pass is given and the shot is missed.. It negates the assist.. A reason for the lost of the game.. The thought of a lost soul has me ****** I'm the point guard I help the scorer sustain.. Chris Paul with rock which is the gospel.. Passing the truth like Paul the apostle .. Too many people out for a win like Christ didn't settle the score... Adam severed the relationship but Christ rebuilt the rapport... I am trying to reach and teach but there's no trust any more... Pointing u in the direction of accepting the Lord.., Embrace the word of God that double edge sword.. Them cuts is conviction.. The sword swinging is What it means to be a witness.. Led by the spirit A Christian Yes we are made in Gods image.. Trying to reach every soul because the wins and losses count.. Life is not a scrimmage.. How can one soul have a  blemish.. Only dirt that can touch the soul is the ***** hands of sinning.. How can I reach the unreachable teach the unteachable..Who mistakes knowledge for ignorance... And reject truth because arrogance..
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62
Sitting at the kitchen table with my father discussing the importance of the questions I must ask a dying man. He says the answers will die with him, you know. The answers will die soon, too. He says, I am the only one he'd release them to, the only one capable of fishing out all those repressed memories of an only brother who took his own life decades back. He strains to put emphasis on a diminishing time frame choking back tears for the inevitable loss of his father in law the father he chose whilst I'm flashing back to twenty minutes prior, discussing his detachment from his own father by blood. I am sitting at the kitchen table with my father It's 1 am, and we are now both choking back tears discussing the questions I will ask a dying man.
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Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
Kitchen Table Talks
*flowing rivers simulate the virtual reality of love warriors topple over forgotten like cartons of used milk silk worms speak sovereign messages and warn us of our fate are we ill or are we healthy stealthily imprisoned by our visions finish the sentences and sever your attachments respecting tradition leads to detachment a semblance of serenity the giver of the dawn used shards of standard force hover in the mind’s sky houses pass you by in finite allegories gardens blossom governing movies and seating our jobless go outside now remove the shades from your eyes breathe in soma and drink from the sky sightless sorrow forges on towards tomorrow art is a balancing act she came out of her shell in order to tell you a story of garlands of silver and gold woven finely into ribbons greased with oil from a rare toad*
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Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC
in finite allegories
I thought we were so similar but now I see the difference You want peace and friendship While I want nothing You constantly make attempts To rebuild a scrap of friendship from the fragile bond I set a flame To re kindle a candle but hide it from inferno To delete the awkwardness and hit undo to before But I don't care And that's what scares me I thought I almost loved you But like that I'm ready to go I want to move on To hop in a car and drive away from the dust that's choking me Despite our bond the fire is done and I don't need to clean the ashes because the bond was severed and the scraps of love burned too. I thought we could be sisters The others called you that To me you were still a friend But perhaps you were more than that But with your double edged sword you stabbed our strings And cut out our hearts The others will still talk to you Worry and cry Still save you from danger Because you are thise sister But to me you are gone An empty shell And any love I felt dissipated into the air To see you killed and walk away Would no longer phase me All I think of you is hate No r eminence of emotion I thought you were a friend We were never sisters But you were always there for me Someone to talk to about the light things I couldnt discuss the pain but at least your voice could lift my hidden sorrow But then I was ripped away Pulled from you and my sisters But somehow I forgot To miss you too much I lived my life Forgot to call Simply acted as though You didn't exist at all What ever love I felt for you I learned to live without And simply forgot About the emotion I used to feel When our times were more real.
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Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
Emotional Detachment
I thought we were so similar but now I see the difference You want peace and friendship While I want nothing You constantly make attempts To rebuild a scrap of friendship from the fragile bond I set a flame To re kindle a candle but hide it from inferno To delete the awkwardness and hit undo to before But I don't care And that's what scares me I thought I almost loved you But like that I'm ready to go I want to move on To hop in a car and drive away from the dust that's choking me Despite our bond the fire is done and I don't need to clean the ashes because the bond was severed and the scraps of love burned too. I thought we could be sisters The others called you that To me you were still a friend But perhaps you were more than that But with your double edged sword you stabbed our strings And cut out our hearts The others will still talk to you Worry and cry Still save you from danger Because you are thise sister But to me you are gone An empty shell And any love I felt dissipated into the air To see you killed and walk away Would no longer phase me All I think of you is hate No r eminence of emotion I thought you were a friend We were never sisters But you were always there for me Someone to talk to about the light things I couldnt discuss the pain but at least your voice could lift my hidden sorrow But then I was ripped away Pulled from you and my sisters But somehow I forgot To miss you too much I lived my life Forgot to call Simply acted as though You didn't exist at all What ever love I felt for you I learned to live without And simply forgot About the emotion I used to feel When our times were more real.
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49
Plumped rouge with pigment her lip fills to graze the ******** intent to disquiet the likes of de Sade autografted with ocular detachment should a Marquis wish to harness the song of the morning within a bandolier of Seine to ensnare any bustled Persephone gilted by discharge of ions into a ménage of torment through the Porte des Lions. Hers is the tincture of doxy caramelized and debrided of naivety, empowered by the eve of invention, swollen to curves and grounded in Paris. Illumination defies pervasion down to every gear and pulley she has hushed through mechanization and lulled by steam, swaging a cacophony of flickers encased in glass by the Lady’s watch, where every rivet of her plate glisters silken reverberation in cascade, elegant, caged, and towering, outspoken in silence, ever challenging the Champ de Mars. "Paris by Gaslight," written by Dionne Charlet, is the title poem to be featured in the upcoming steampunk anthology Paris by Gaslight, the third anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books. Look for the first two collections of poems and short stories set in Victorian Times, New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528). Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie.
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Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
Paris by Gaslight
The opposite of love, is indifference. Not anger, aversion, or hate. Accompanied by avoidant-detachment, And a silence that never abates. It can disguise itself in diffidence; Depressed by misery, for score. Sheltering who practice its persuasion, But leaving its victim longing for more. It looks like a promise that’s broken, It sounds like the melody of a lie. It tastes like a cocktail & bitters; It feels like a passion that died. You can’t see the damage from the outside; The wounds that scar from within. Until they manifest as an addiction, Or any overt kind of sin. Love faces the toughest of battles; Love outshines even the sun. Indifference regards nothing higher; And indifference will perpetually run.
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Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
Indifference
You swell some strain on me, You, middle kingdom! Eradicating small detachments, Of both sailors and marines. They were ranked on islets and reefs, With an integer of nine – There in the island next to me, I’m sure, you know who Spratly is. Always wanting such detachment To be eradicated by your own; Now stationed On a World War II era landing ship. Your toy-ships came near me, With 9-kilometer of the LST. “It’s there illegally,” How adamant that be! I’ve tipped you off already, Surely will I stand firm! Then, you’ve countered me on! – Opting for the ******** of more skyscrapers; Those that are on stilts; Now nearby two Reefs & a Bank? – Nearby my darling Palawan Island! “There is no room at all,” For the negotiation on some point, You’ve declared. Oh, here’s my friend, U.S. Left us with course of action to try; Everyone calm down, Be less provocative. For often, he flies over; Probing some stuffs. You are the biggest offender, my friend; In this dispute, you show no sign of slowing; Or backing, down. But hey, I won’t give up! (9/9/13)
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May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Islet of Dispute
Why, When words calmly manifest the intimacy, Our hearts render them asunder. In just a sliver of time. How, When surrounded by souls dimly lit, Do I feel as a death moth fluttering near a lamp. Ceaselessly eternal. What, Can my lips say when my heart is burnt by fire. What words? When all are mean. Where, Are the seconds of every day gone? Swallowed; Except in frivolous pursuit or meaningless drudgery When, Could I raise my arms up without fear of falling, Or be swept by Lethe.
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Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
Detachment
this swirling roaring wind that blows homeward from the sea                                          saltiness with eucalyptus blending in twisting my fear                                                 the knots in my chest and stomach entangling                                                       deadly mocktail of emotions surging                                                           with every  howling whoosh                                                                   a new green life falls breaking                                                                               life prematurely ending                                                                                  storm violently shaking                                                                                     every limb of every tree                                                                         an attempt to blow anxiety                                                                         into each living breath                                                                                  a drenched vision                                                                                      of a couple of crows                                                                                    seemingly meditating                                                                             in the midst of the tempest                                                                      holding their own                                                                                   ***in the eye                                                                                 of the storm                                                                                   they find                                                                                      Peace*** - Vijayalakshmi Harish    01.11.2012 Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
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Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
Detachment
this swirling roaring wind that blows homeward from the sea                                          saltiness with eucalyptus blending in twisting my fear                                                 the knots in my chest and stomach entangling                                                       deadly mocktail of emotions surging                                                           with every  howling whoosh                                                                   a new green life falls breaking                                                                               life prematurely ending                                                                                  storm violently shaking                                                                                     every limb of every tree                                                                         an attempt to blow anxiety                                                                         into each living breath                                                                                  a drenched vision                                                                                      of a couple of crows                                                                                    seemingly meditating                                                                             in the midst of the tempest                                                                      holding their own                                                                                   ***in the eye                                                                                 of the storm                                                                                   they find                                                                                      Peace*** - Vijayalakshmi Harish    01.11.2012 Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
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23
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, we live for moments that will sweep us of our feets:> And her pupils dilate betraying her detachment She senses his invading into the crowd She drips to her feet in confusion and curiosity about that mysterious gleam adhering her She tries to ignore but couldn't help She yearns for the ocean eyes She finds herself tensing to the touch of his gaze that trickles a striking chill down her shoulders to her lower spine And she melts with lust and entice ------ravenfeels
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Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 12:59 PM UTC
Eyes Betray Us
It's March in California and, It feels like an early September evening in Virginia, An owl is cooing, A nostalgic singsong that reminds me of the woods behind my parents house, Comfort seekers in my senses inflate, Disappearing into a heady haze, Anything to distract myself from the mini self-betrayal I just executed. I can watch myself as I do it, Basking in this nostalgia, The detachment from my pain easing my shoulders, Making me feel high, Or maybe it's the serotonin and dopamine, Coursing around in my body, Freely, As it pleases, Results of. The owl is howling and my roommate is home, My phone is silent and I'm blissfully alone, Detachment, detachment, detachment, My favorite drug, how I've missed you. So sickly happy, So near to trauma, (my familiar place) But my perspective saving me from feeling it.. I could be in Virginia in 2008, My legs a little hairy, A breeze blowing through my long, long hair, Innocence teasing me. Or I could be here, now, Listening for an owl that has stopped calling. How delicious. Sweet detachment. My favorite drug.
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Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 9:47 PM UTC
Owls
I want a million likes, thumbs ups, plus so and so from those that I don't know I want them to follow I hope they come in droves Fall in love with my mask laugh at my cartoon character let me sit and bask kissing *** of a stranger show me your pretty images of your picture perfect lives leave me in my guilty bliss where my detachment thrives
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Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
Detached
64 Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair! Some Vision of the World Cashmere— I confidently see! Or else a Peacock’s purple Train Feather by feather—on the plain Fritters itself away! The dreamy Butterflies bestir! Lethargic pools resume the whir Of last year’s sundered tune! From some old Fortress on the sun Baronial Bees—march—one by one— In murmuring platoon! The Robins stand as thick today As flakes of snow stood yesterday— On fence—and Roof—and Twig! The Orchis binds her feather on For her old lover—Don the Sun! Revisiting the Bog! Without Commander! Countless! Still! The Regiments of Wood and Hill In bright detachment stand! Behold! Whose Multitudes are these? The children of whose turbaned seas— Or what Circassian Land?
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2.7k
Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair!
let us consider declarations of independence as remedies for election ills.. democracy has been deadened by flows of money reaching ego ends.. competing parties mirroring yet exaggerating differences knowing one and all precious power is the prize.. independence allows consciousness to arise at last.. good then is found in left and right shadow enclosing both.. paradox rules oppositions and detachment soothes the din of boisterous claims.. new freedom brings new strength.. money flows lose direction when feedback polls confuse.. and democracy then may deliver promise once again...
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Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 5:35 PM UTC
independence
For the girl who doesn't know how to say no: I have been a version of you too many times I have worn your body on frequent occasions Always physically neutral, stock-still Denying purpose into static Eyes open And breathing I know exactly how it is To not know how to refuse Or resist when rough palms press on your skin I know how it is To feel there is no other option But to lie still while eager hands pull at your body Uninvited lips stepping into your mouth How quickly a tongue becomes a weapon I know it all too well It is iron-clenched fists It is unforgiving friction And disintegration becomes second nature For a girl whose limbs Are already paper-made Stares burned into too many white walls A woman watching her own shadow And the word no never escapes the vocal chords Because there is never a question to answer to It is assumed That our shared pulse is enough yes And consent is an easy thing to ignore When it is hardly ever asked for Men are taught to halt Only if it is preceded by screeching I wonder how many silent cries Are covered by darkness and heavy breathing This is for the girl Who doesn't know how to say no For the girl who chokes on her words before they can leave her lips For the girl who freezes in uncomfortable situations For the girl who has played mime too many times For the girl who has been made surface to sandpaper hands For the girl who is always vocal But in a single instant became victim to chokehold silence This is for you I have been a version of you too many times I have worn the fingerprints on your phosphorescent skin I have pulled off your clothing after a night of detachment I see you in every mirror I look into Every stained glass reflection I hear you every time he doesn't ask It is so easy To forget you have a voice But I know with certainty that you do I know That you understand the stillness The quiet The hush The absence of language Words held hostage You are the only one Who bares the heaviness of night kneeling on your chest The added weight from all those Who have touched you without permission I want you to know I would carry it for you If I could I want you to know It is not your fault That your calmness Is often mistaken for compliance It is not your fault That you so quickly fall paralyzed Playing statue may seem Like the easy way out But you were never meant To stand still We are built to listen through our bones Your voice is a million vibrations Received through the skin You were made To howl our names into the ground Until the forest shakes its trees to their death And no one is around To hear it.
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Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
For The Girl Who Doesn't Know How To Say No
For the girl who doesn't know how to say no: I have been a version of you too many times I have worn your body on frequent occasions Always physically neutral, stock-still Denying purpose into static Eyes open And breathing I know exactly how it is To not know how to refuse Or resist when rough palms press on your skin I know how it is To feel there is no other option But to lie still while eager hands pull at your body Uninvited lips stepping into your mouth How quickly a tongue becomes a weapon I know it all too well It is iron-clenched fists It is unforgiving friction And disintegration becomes second nature For a girl whose limbs Are already paper-made Stares burned into too many white walls A woman watching her own shadow And the word no never escapes the vocal chords Because there is never a question to answer to It is assumed That our shared pulse is enough yes And consent is an easy thing to ignore When it is hardly ever asked for Men are taught to halt Only if it is preceded by screeching I wonder how many silent cries Are covered by darkness and heavy breathing This is for the girl Who doesn't know how to say no For the girl who chokes on her words before they can leave her lips For the girl who freezes in uncomfortable situations For the girl who has played mime too many times For the girl who has been made surface to sandpaper hands For the girl who is always vocal But in a single instant became victim to chokehold silence This is for you I have been a version of you too many times I have worn the fingerprints on your phosphorescent skin I have pulled off your clothing after a night of detachment I see you in every mirror I look into Every stained glass reflection I hear you every time he doesn't ask It is so easy To forget you have a voice But I know with certainty that you do I know That you understand the stillness The quiet The hush The absence of language Words held hostage You are the only one Who bares the heaviness of night kneeling on your chest The added weight from all those Who have touched you without permission I want you to know I would carry it for you If I could I want you to know It is not your fault That your calmness Is often mistaken for compliance It is not your fault That you so quickly fall paralyzed Playing statue may seem Like the easy way out But you were never meant To stand still We are built to listen through our bones Your voice is a million vibrations Received through the skin You were made To howl our names into the ground Until the forest shakes its trees to their death And no one is around To hear it.
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82
I never had anyone to look up to, Growing up I just knew these people weren't who I wanted to be, Infidelity, Lies, Hypocrisy. Detachment, *** Adultery. These were my role models. The mother who constantly lied, The father who laid with different women every night, Family members who have broken up happy homes, The step-father infected by his own hypocrisy, The family home. Infested by the maggots that lie deep within its rotten core, The silver fish that swim all around the darkness where the rotten core lies. How they sleep at night, Coveted by false respect and love that they believe they are due, Is beyond my comprehension, Shrouded by their own demons that serve as their blankets to lay with at night, Born into a family that refuse to see their own filth and dirt, Sickening. They are the **** of the Earth. Festering boils in place of where their heart used to be, There are no role models here. Only me.
0
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
No Role Models
It is not your fight You're a mere mercenary In someone else's
0
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
Detachment
The irreveracable state of falling moral Piecing together newspaper dooms dayers Always curious about generalized detachment Yet unable to see the forest for the trees Picket lines are home Raging infernos of injustice and malcontent Laying stoically at their doorstep Wrapped messily in insomniac nightmares at yours Big, BOLD letters voicing the masses We are, We are Oppressed, Depressed, Repressed No longer though Passing out the hymnals of our revolution Unsatisfied but spent I sit back and enjoy the show Saturating my senses with the smell of burning GMO fields
0
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 10:13 AM UTC
Inevitable Outcome
it’s interesting to think about all the right people who might’ve come into your life at the wrong time. but then again, i often wonder if time could’ve saved or wrecked us at all. maybe from the start, we were destined to be nothing more than strangers. even if i had been weighed down, glued to one spot, nomadic tensions silenced, it seems likely that, still, our friendly smiles and cordial jokes would’ve been limited, somehow, by unseen barriers, by the cruel overseer that is fate. i think i meant something to you, once. not a lot, but something. and now, now i’m just there. a solid. something that takes up space. you still sit close to me, but not as close as you did when we first met. and i wonder, sometimes, if i did something wrong, if there was something i could’ve done, or not done, to change things, to make things better, to stop us from drifting silently onto the end of the growing list of tragedies my life’s friendships have been. but maybe there was nothing i could do. that thought, while terrifying, is perhaps the most comforting one. after all, it is better to be left helpless from the start than to be burdened with the knowledge that the stones you threw became part of the landslide. i hope, maybe, that we can salvage what’s left, perhaps even grow it into something better. but somewhere inside, i know that’s fool’s talk. i doubt i ever meant much to you, anyway. i always was, and always will be, just another shadow, another stranger, another change of season. i suppose i was your winter — a barrage of snow and ice that danced in clumsily, not bothering to think about what would happen once spring came. i hope you’ll remember me when i’m gone. even now, it’s nice to think that i cross your mind as much as you cross mine. but my hopes seldom match my reality. so, still, i am just another. watching. waiting. being. i am nothing, and in being nothing i suppose that i, too, am everything. but i will never be your everything. and i could say that i regret that, but perhaps i’m still holding onto that last bit of hope. always the optimist, and yet even more so the pessimist. i thought you might be both, too. i thought we might find a way to complete one another, much like how the land completes the sea. but i suppose i am left the earth without its ocean, the ground without its rain. it’s a horrible thing, detachment. my roots never quite find what they’re looking for in the soil. i had just hoped you would be different. (a.m.)
0
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
seasons
it’s interesting to think about all the right people who might’ve come into your life at the wrong time. but then again, i often wonder if time could’ve saved or wrecked us at all. maybe from the start, we were destined to be nothing more than strangers. even if i had been weighed down, glued to one spot, nomadic tensions silenced, it seems likely that, still, our friendly smiles and cordial jokes would’ve been limited, somehow, by unseen barriers, by the cruel overseer that is fate. i think i meant something to you, once. not a lot, but something. and now, now i’m just there. a solid. something that takes up space. you still sit close to me, but not as close as you did when we first met. and i wonder, sometimes, if i did something wrong, if there was something i could’ve done, or not done, to change things, to make things better, to stop us from drifting silently onto the end of the growing list of tragedies my life’s friendships have been. but maybe there was nothing i could do. that thought, while terrifying, is perhaps the most comforting one. after all, it is better to be left helpless from the start than to be burdened with the knowledge that the stones you threw became part of the landslide. i hope, maybe, that we can salvage what’s left, perhaps even grow it into something better. but somewhere inside, i know that’s fool’s talk. i doubt i ever meant much to you, anyway. i always was, and always will be, just another shadow, another stranger, another change of season. i suppose i was your winter — a barrage of snow and ice that danced in clumsily, not bothering to think about what would happen once spring came. i hope you’ll remember me when i’m gone. even now, it’s nice to think that i cross your mind as much as you cross mine. but my hopes seldom match my reality. so, still, i am just another. watching. waiting. being. i am nothing, and in being nothing i suppose that i, too, am everything. but i will never be your everything. and i could say that i regret that, but perhaps i’m still holding onto that last bit of hope. always the optimist, and yet even more so the pessimist. i thought you might be both, too. i thought we might find a way to complete one another, much like how the land completes the sea. but i suppose i am left the earth without its ocean, the ground without its rain. it’s a horrible thing, detachment. my roots never quite find what they’re looking for in the soil. i had just hoped you would be different. (a.m.)
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Infectious laugh, Untamable anger, Excitable stories, Well-hidden anxiety. Misdirected blame, Unwarranted shame. Blue eyes. Brown hair, red hints; I wish I could have seen it with sun tints. Smiling... After work. In the middle of the night. In the mornings. Saturday afternoons. Rushed calls or A day’s worth of together. Nightmares as dreams, Nights without sleep. Coffee, drugs, caffeine. Scars. Hopelessness. Grief. Aspirations. Full of life. Childlike heart. Easily torn, but never taken apart. An eye for nature’s beauty. An eye for art. One for me, occasionally. Insecurity. Arrogance. Compassion. Detachment. Weak yet enduring. Unmoving yet learning. Intoxicating. Aggravating. A liar struggling to lie. A suicide debating to die. Lustful gaze. Manipulative ways. Who were you And why couldn’t you stay?
0
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
Who were you?