"unattached" poems
He would’ve explained how it was still raining,
near dusk one evening, the sky a bright shimmering pink.
The fog made things seem hollow and unattached,
his life was still a constellation of possibilities.
You could let your hair grow, he said.
Some things you can feel.
He would’ve explained how it was still raining,
leaning forward, head down,
wading across the field to the river
and then turning and wading back.
He would’ve explained how it was still raining
as the sky went from pink to purple,
across that dotted line between two different worlds,
a place where your life exists before you’ve lived it.
The vapors **** you in.
He would’ve explained how it was still raining;
he should’ve taken one look and headed for higher ground.
The rain was the war and you had to fight it,
no time for sorting through options, no thinking at all.
He remembered trying to crawl towards the screaming,
and the bright pink sky, and the war, and courage.
You come over clean and you get *****
He was part of the waste.
Outside, a soft violet light was spreading out across the eastern hillsides.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 5:45 PM UTC
July 4th, 2018
Where the land of the free has become obscured by the shadow
of oppression,
Its' silhouettes are the monsters
children are afraid of under their beds.
How, fireworks remind so many gunshots
Self-proclaimed nationalists cannot stay loyal enough,
to know what would be good for this land.
This land of the free,
no longer belongs to the home of the brave,
but the cowardly.
Family & children born unto what we deem unattached,
from the roots of this soil,
they are not welcomed for lady liberty's "borrowed" arms to embrace them.
When each artifact
was sculpted from an immigrant's hands,
but we've warranted their tribulations
are greater than stars on our flag.
If those stars stand for detainment,
tragedy, and fascism.
I do not proudly pledge such ideals,
embracing my heritage of greats-
who journeyed over on ships across seas.
They are the stars of America's history.
—V.H.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.
7.4k
I am a controlling boyfriend.
No, I am not a male, nor do I have a girlfriend to abuse. But I am the crazy stalker controlling boyfriend.
I have realized something in myself:
I am free with my boy and his casual flirtations, but am extremely jealous and possessive of my girls, when I have one.
Or even in my present case of not having one, I want to possess her as she has possessed me. I want all your time, all your thoughts, as you inhabit mine.
“How do you handle the jealousy??" It's funny, I don't get jealous when I have both partners in my bed, or in my arms. That is when I’m most content.
I get jealous when outsiders are flirtatious or show interest. It's also funny, I'm more annoyed when people flirt with him thinking he’s unattached.
I don't get it either; just a quirk of mine.
Perhaps my nonchalance with my boy is merely grown out of our time together. In nearly seven years, not one has managed to create a rift. Those who have tried have failed, and he and I have come out the better.
Patience is a virtue I do not possess, and the longer I go on incomplete... mayhap my own fears make me dig my claws into a new potential. Fear that someone else will charm such a rare unicorn away from me/us, and we’ll be left again, searching.
Nor is this a new feeling, for this young woman. A year ago, I felt the same overwhelming possessiveness. Then again, it would not do to compare the two; they are two different people, who hold different qualities.
The bitter jealousy I now project I have tasted before. The shock that I’ve become my own controlling high school boyfriend fills me with disgust.
Unbeknownst to her, I imagine her not only in my bed, in my arms, in my life… but also on my knee. I’ve never before considered someone as both lover and submissive.
Unbeknownst to me, would that make my jealousy grow or fade, were I to possess her in every way I’ve imagined?
Obviously I have some things to work on.
Firstly, finding our unicorn.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
There's a time to laugh,
and theres a time to cry,
but if we only ever cry,
then we'll soon surely die.
If we only ever laugh
we'll surely be seen as,
a mere sociopath,
who is too unattached,
to ever be sad.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
I live a shallow life.
No one is willing to submerge too deep.
I see them all around me…
Dancing on the sand,
Their skin hot from the sun,
& burning with romance.
I let them come and go as they please,
Stepping in my puddle by the sea,
Taking away a little at a time,
Leaving me alone…yet free.
I hear the others coming,
Rolling in so gently,
Each just a passerby
Speaking to me eloquently.
I see in the distance the whole that I should be,
But here I wait, unattached…
Just like a puddle by the sea.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC
Don't make decisions
when you've got a broken heart
for an unattached individual
with forgotten promises
abandoned memories
rejected phone calls
wrecked expectations
deserted arrangements
dreadful lies
forsaken mixed signals
slowly it will **** you
ripping the heart to pieces
soon you'll be
crept up to loneliness
regretting all your dumbfounded decisions
left with an empty feeling
with happiness never coming your way
for this will ruin you
and tear you apart
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
From beyond the clouds,
cavalier and unattached,
sneaking past the yawn of temple bell
woken up from sleep,
trespasses a doomed note
pitched like flight of a falcon
fresh from its swoop on prey,
strumming on the discord in a lonely heart,
stoking once more
the hunger and anger of
an eternal yearning...
...Ah! My ears. They pick up the cruel flute. Here it comes, to ladle my pain. Not again. Not again.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 11:08 PM UTC
our conversations are all in blue.
i try not to mind it,
like i try not to mind the hair falling out of my scalp.
you're just busy being unattached to me.
i make excuses for you as easy as i double text.
they flood my head like mantras,
but not the kind that make you feel calm or loved.
it's more like telling yourself you won't throw up after the twisty roads up the mountain.
but i want to see the view with you.
so i keep sending you blue paragraphs filled with 'sorry's and 'i love you's.
you send the same grey 'i love you, too's.
and we call it communication.
i'm the driver and the passenger
the carsick kid trying not to throw up and the toddler asking over and over if we're there yet.
but i want to see the view with you.
would it hurt to send a grey paragraph? or ask me,
in your best whine,
if we are at the top yet?
throw up in my lap. drive me crazy.
ask me for the aux cord and i'll give it to you.
i'm done listening to this album on repeat.
i want to hold your hand without worrying if your fingers are numb and you just don't want to hurt my feelings.
this car needs more you.
and i don't mean the you dressed in grey half messages that you probably rewrote three times.
i need the you that talked about faking our deaths together
like it was the only part of life worth living.
wearing that laugh you always say is too loud,
but really it sounds like music.
i like my music loud and angry.
and ****** at your parents for being expired versions of themselves, always expecting you to be organic.
i need that you like i need a vice.
because that's who i want to see the view with.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 3:13 AM UTC
The Garden Buddha
sits
between
the
Rosemary, Dahlia and Boronia
fragrances in the breeze
Welcoming Accepting
the sun, the rain,
the star lite night sky
fierce frozen mornings
the snow when it comes,
the spiders, the slugs, the mosquitoes, the flies
Garden Buddha
quarter smile
whether or not
I sit beside him,
Unattached to all he sees
a study in the 7 Dharmas.
The Garden Buddha
being is all he knows.
While I worry
about this and that
fearful thoughts in the days and nights
all attached
to
love and loss,
fears and triumphs
births and debts,
what people think
will poems trend
whether there is food on the table
whether work will extend
whether or not I am part of the latest fashion trend.
The Garden Buddha
doesn't care or not care
about any of those things
his eyes
never waver
they always look inside out
outside in.
The Garden Buddha
stone of course
his smile
never goes away.
In the end, though,
nature will always have the last say
I can accept it
or not
Be filled with longing
suffering or accepting
life on life's terms
The Garden Buddha
will be here
long after
my last
dying day.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Most of my life, I’ve been a highly independent person and proudly so. I have grown myself up, travelled alone, personal decisions. I am even praised for being so independent. I can’t say I did not enjoy the glory. I have rejected my support system fiercely and craved the glory of independence.
Growing up and be independent! That’s all that has been a goal. I had made personal independence as my virtue. Independence from parents, from education, and when you have your heartbroken, independence from being in love. I hated the word “compromise” and the only way to achieve. Doing something all by yourself takes no compromising. I don’t have to think about someone else’s feelings, I don’t have to worry about their needs, I don’t have to take care of anyone but me. Now, this sounds more and more like selfish than independence.
I realise the bigger struggle is to collaborate and come to a solution where everyone has their needs met, to give as well as take. Now that felt like growing up, the test of real courage. Are we glorifying independence because we don’t want to take care of other people? Because everywhere I went, someone was telling me I needed to find my freedom. Everywhere I looked, I searched in vain for that independence I once had, finally having to accept I would never be an unemotional, unattached person again.
Maybe we need not be independent. Self-made Is so overrated. Nobody is. We need not be. Even world war was won by the alliance. We need 2 for a clap or make a life. You need light and day to survive, you need bones and muscles. The world is not singular, the world is not independent. Even earth is going round and round the sun with a crazy crush that it can’t collide into and it can’t move away from. Earth is so on its own, so much in its own, but its existence is a collaborative one.
I know now that I can’t go at it alone or maybe even if I can I don’t want to do this alone. I want to live a life with friends and family supporting each other through the good, the rough, and everything in between. And I want a romantic partner to experience life with me. I want to have support emotionally, physically, and financially a coexistence.
My feminazi is in admitting that we need more feminine collaboration than the masculine ideal of success and independence. I want to find that freedom of shared submission and being part of something bigger than self-sufficiency.
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 6:17 AM UTC
I grasp onto the gasps and awe of some stranger
I do it all reckless, and so unafraid by this danger
I tango with the early hours and my own ***** mind
I beg for more from the phone screen I hide behind
I play with these loose holds and these unattached strings
I play with their pleasure, revel in the way they moan and sing
I validate my own worth through this self I display
I almost don't recognize the person on my mirror today
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 10:04 AM UTC
sometimes i am emotionally unavailable on purpose.
i put my phone under my pillow so i can't hear it beep and buzz and twang
i turn off my facebook chat and ignore your messages.
i don't even do it because i can't handle it
i can handle anything
i was born with an innate sense of determination
and morality
but sometimes i feel the need to be an unattached *******
just to see what it's like
i'll go on youtube and watch ****** videos
i'll even laugh
when i know that somewhere you're feeling like i do all the time
i won't give a single ****
not even a tiny pang will reach my carefully wired heart
right now it's plugged into too many other things that are ******* the energy out of it
to take note
i hope you feel ******* terrible
i'm not even bothered
i will be later
but not now
message away...
la,
la
can't hear you,
can't hear you.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
Complex innards of the female form,
Unrealised by the male definition of the world.
Intensity grabs a hold,
Locking me harshly onto the cracks in-between.
There's no such thing as enough.
More and more till faces are torn.
Slit in two. Sown up. Slit in four. Sown up.
And so on.
There's no needle, skin, key.
All useless paraphernalia.
Inserted into the flesh,
Then poured out at death.
Empower myself with the force of control.
Uncontrolled self-control lost to control of others.
Sunken by unwanted wanting of the sub-conscience.
Never to be fixed or forgotten,
Just left lingering in the abyss,
Eating away at you as you distaste yourself.
Visitations upon our corrected correctors,
Bringing solace for short periods.
Thrown fiercely under the bed to be forgotten again.
Convicted to lives of self-mutilation,
Self-deprivation, self-contemplation.
Hidden behind glistening eyes, just lies.
Stand, sit in ****** lanes peering up at the moon.
Lungs slowly growing blacker, laced with tar.
Hindsight is a curse, ignorance-bliss.
All held inside a shaking fist, shaking unwillingly.
Unwillingly shaking, kicking walls
To knock down, insane with powerless power.
Unhinged, unattached.
Inside, growls to torture.
Outside, smiles to assist.
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 12:19 PM UTC
irksome thoughts spin round the moment
and they flee to where iv fled to
and they tap out strange messages on my head
and they gather dust into piles
and the piles grow to hills with the
passing hours and changing landscapes of the heartstring
strings are for kittens to play with
chase round and round
she lay in the shade of an oak tree
by the roadside
in the dust hills
sipping her long island
and watching the road with languid eyes
leaf floats down and
unattached from the dream
she wanders
the dust hills wailing for lost loves not her own
and berating thouse resposible for every
slight ever felt
headlights bath the dust hills
as eighteen wheelers truck
the empire of america ever southward
into the cheaply painted tropical sun
she is bikini clad
and is forever clutching an ice cold drink
that eternaly leaves a smile on
her forever blemish free smile
in the ***** dark dust hills
i feel so alone here by her side
i want to run away
and sleep in a feild
with the ****** and the drunkard
with the apostles of night
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
An introvert, I am not
I am just alone
Unattached from iniquity
Peace is all I seek
Reflections from adversities
I evaluate with a hardened stance
Nonspecific abandonments
I negotiate with my floodlight
In mental conflict with my soul
I split atoms and debate
Intuition overwhelms me
yet I accept all things out of my control
Like Wonder’s vision and spiritual being
I remain passionate while on my throne
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
Unread
Unsaid
Undone
Unsung
Understand
Undo
Unlike
Unloved
Unafraid
Unattached
Unavailable
Unceasing
Uncanny
Unclean
Unzipped
Unusual
Unprintable
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
I met the Soul,
And she was empty.
She was exhausted, unattached.
She wandered charily,
Taking the back streets,
Not to be noticed.
She was unsaved.
Was she abused?
Was she just given up?
She walked so poor, not oneself.
"Why are you suffering?" -
I asked her heedfully.
And lo I realized:
It's my Soul herself.
Apr 9, 2025
Apr 9, 2025 at 5:52 PM UTC
several snakes spiraling
hissing a message in her ear
telephone is dialing
waiting for a call from someone dear
(on the velveteen tangerine)
roller skated through the town
laces strangle each other like constrictors
gravity is upside down
the pair of skates are like twin sisters
(on the velveteen tangerine)
ivy climbing legs and boughs
stemming into leaves and flowers
time is spinning backwards now
the clock has been gone for hours
(on the velveteen tangerine)
cream and sugar sweet
share a cup of tea with company
friends talk about their week
lounging in the leafy canopy
(on the velveteen tangerine)
eyes stare at the strange sight
unattached and independently
moonlight shines on glades of green at night
trees blend into starry scenery
(on the velveteen tangerine)
citrus spheres hang from tree limbs
peel the hard rind to make it nice
pick one or a dozen at your whim
drink sweet juice or swallow a slice
(on the velveteen tangerine)
beware of seeds and centipedes
but take a chance and you will dance
with delight around midnight
on the velveteen tangerine
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:57 PM UTC
Do not look at me like that.
With those eyes that see only what is shone to you.
And you accept all of it.
No questions asked.
No logic, no reason to seek.
No.
I am not just an object you can look at.
Do not look at me like that.
With the judgment of their thoughts
That you so shamelessly replicate
in your feeble, feeble mind.
No originality.
You bore me in your dullness.
No.
I am not who you think I am.
Do not look at me like that.
With ears filled with their whispers.
I can hear them too, you know.
You're not very discreet.
No.
I am not defined by the stories they say.
I am not an open book,
Or a single shade,
Or a monotone.
I feel nothing for their interests.
I am not alive in their ballads of woe.
*I am alive in myself.
I am the abstract, I am the obtuse.*
My colors, range to infinity.
My stories have happy sad tormenting everafters.
I do not care for their hollow affection or their false ratification.
I am unattached and I breathe fire--
*in.
out.*
I'm ablaze in my little place of ease.
Even alone, I have found my love...
She was there along.
Residing in me,
It was always--
me.
I am myself. That is enough.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
I played the game, alone.
I talk to the air,
Imagining a friend who isn’t there.
My brain’s dual thinking.
- Checkmate -
Personification in strike
Persona’s colliding stake
- Stalemate -
Hello there my stuffed friend
Looks like we are a matched.
We’re Latched,
Encased in the four corners of our walls.
You know I feel restless looking at your frozen face.
Playing with stillness is a hollowed void.
Engross with my ever changing fantasy.
Choosing to ignore reality.
A sad case of my mortality.
- Workmate -
Music patched the necessary unattached realm.
Stories powered the desires to dream the unchallenged dream.
Life is a walking daydream.
- Lostmate -
There are those would think I am coward
And then I box myself not to move forward.
I fear what lurks behind someone’s soul,
Fearing I am not worthy of my own coal.
A charade of personas, hiding.
Tilting the crowd as if I am never there, post acting.
- Soulmate -
Believing you are near,
somewhere far behind that unseen chamber door.
- Castmate -
Sometimes I am just tired of this game.
Whispers of the wind, believing I am tamed.
Sometimes all I need is a real friend
That will hug-out the negative trend
For me to transcend
To the realistic perspective
Waking the sleeping life’s motive.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
People say, bookworms are antisocial, quiet, and pretty much unattached.
these are not true, alright? no. bookworms are not like that.
let me enlighten you by telling you about the bookworm I fell for.
1. on meeting her for the first time, I was minding my own business. I was in class and it was the first day of school.
then all of a sudden, she suddenly points out the game I'm holding and screams *** *** *** that game!! and after that we just talked on and on and on and on pretty much about random things. so no, they are not antisocial.
2. on trips to bookstores I'd always end up walking out of one with ym body hurting. why? Whenever she sees a book that she doesn't have, she'd gasp point grab gasp point grab and repeat. on seeing a book that she can't buy. she'd hit me with it! I mean who does that? on seeing a book that she's been looking for, for a long time, she'd throw a tantrum! so no, they are not quiet.
3. When you look into her eyes, you'd see all the things she's been through, the masks she wore, and the wrinkles in her smiles for faking them so much. It came be from a lot of things, A past lover, a long-term problem, an old friend, or betrayals. whether it's fiction or non-fiction it would pain her no matter how she lies about it. She's been attached to too many for too long a time, that she'd try her best not to get attached. So on a bookwrom being attached or unattached, in the end it's all up to you whether she becomes the first or the latter
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 3:24 AM UTC
We gather them,
These stolen moments,
These orphaned seconds,
These lost dark minutes.
Stateless, Unattached,
These refugee clicks
With no form or voice
Do not belong here.
We pile them up,
These off cuts of time,
These shards of passing,
This swarf of tempo.
Shreds of interval
And dislocation
With no named event
To give them title.
And with our small words we bind them,
A suture in the wounded day,
To make a tiny poem of the scars.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC