"unbothered" poems
Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just tow me an inch, no--
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.
That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter--
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly-chisled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.
And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I was was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.
Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.
39.3k
I
Stacked green crates by the futon,
records sealed as buried letters,
each sleeve longing
to be drawn out into daylight
by her small, thoughtful hands.
I just want to play that Nick Cave again
teenager’s resolve in her voice,
she drops the needle on "Tupelo",
traces Peter Murphy with her thumb,
holds Kate Bush to the light
like stained glass.
She laughs
at the ****** box on the speaker.
I tell her it’s never going to happen.
She grins, unbothered,
says she only came for the vinyl.
I watch her tilt each sleeve,
never touching the grooves,
brush the dust,
lay the needle like a secret,
slide the disc back without a wrinkle.
Each time I’m surprised
by her precision.
It’s the third time
she’s dropped by.
She makes mixtapes.
Pressing pause,
pressing record,
stitching songs
into a spine of hiss.
Once, to me, or to herself,
she said her father wanted a tape.
She’d mail it when
he had somewhere to send it.
She follows me across the bridge,
talking about her brother,
an ex-best friend,
mimicking her professor,
how he wags his tongue
when he writes on the chalkboard.
I haul a duffel:
apron, uniform, boots heavy with grease.
She skips in the rain,
strumming cables, humming
the last song played, still in the air.
II
I unlock the door,
steeped in garlic and kitchen sweat,
boots leaving grime on the boards.
She isn’t there-
only the crates, stacked neater,
jackets squared, spines aligned,
as if her care was meant for me.
The room settles with her absence,
yet holds me upright
in its small, thoughtful hands.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 8:11 PM UTC
I try, I try
To detach, to distance
To disconnect my existence
To be unbothered by you
I try, I try
To look within, seek happiness
To stay unaffected, show resistance
To overcome your persistence
in hurting me.
But one after the other, your arrows strike
Avoiding the pain, I continue to fight
Even winning the war, I stay alive
But my skin doesn't let me forget all the scars in sight.
Nov 17, 2022
Nov 17, 2022 at 11:27 AM UTC
the things we do - indirectly.
i’m drawn to this sort of thing,
torture. but,
i pull myself clear of it.
when she
shakes my hand, her body is elsewhere,
unbothered.
her vessel formed in ceramics and reinforced
tightly
every wish granted, “hey!” i’d say.
it isn’t fair! is it?
i understand these sorts of things
the way i tortured my thoughts into patterns
and my body is elsewhere,
unharmed, because
i pulled myself clear of it. such am i
“above it”: so
it turns out i’m envious
in effigy, “don’t worry,” i’d say.
it’s not real, because
i’m not real
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
gracing the streets,
with her pink stilleto
and a pricy frappuccino—
she barely sips
they can't take their eyes off her,
well, who would?
even i,
i can't.
she has class and elegance,
money, power—
what else is missing?
oh, i know,
the reason i stared at her for a minute.
i just can't forget,
how unbothered she is
when she threw the empty cup
on the ground.
i wonder why
she doesn't use her bills
to buy some manners?
oh wait—
i forgot--
that's not for sale.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 1:11 AM UTC
Martin comes out of the city,
I go in.
After months we meet again but I run left,
acting unbothered, avoiding eye contact
His Cambridge degree is on its way:
PhDs, political science and analytical history
but 20 is such a
******* tender age
So I am nervous- more than ever,
cause he used to put my mind to the acid test and
now I don't know what I am supposed to do with
all of his secrets.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
The fish, like people, swimming in sync.
All swimming around a tank disguised as magic- a world pretending to be beautiful.
The only difference is the sense of indifferent certainty.
The fish completely accept how small they are in the myriad of birth, death and evolution.
We are doomed to question.
I feel that they are accepting of futility rather than ignorant of it, as believed by most.
The sharks are the most magnificent, they have power to destroy yet they live through peace- that is the most beautiful phenomenon of all.
Most of us, all of them, seem unbothered by this perpetual routine.
My eyes begin to mirror the contents of the salty tank, filling with magical mystery.
He echoed my thoughts. The boy I am completely inlove with kissed me under a sky of turtles and whispering kelp.
That moment exists with the few that convince me there is more than an ancient, repetitive cycle.
He is alive with me. Believes that I am more than the half-life I am doomed to live. Always my first love to have awakened my belief in grace, my craving to live in the unconquerable light.
Teal glow, shark shadows and moon-cold kisses.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
Bring me along!
To your road trip of fun!
I'll hop In the backseat,
Unbothered by the summer heat,
And we'll drive till your fingers blister on the steering wheel.
I can ride along!
S'long I can pick the music,
Ain't really nothing to it,
But we might hit some old superchic,
Oh! Bring me along!
My skin itches to touch the hot air,
Blooming through the window,
At 60mph.
Oh won't you let me tag along?
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
i shouldn’t expect
to stand still
while the untethered
and unbothered
wind demonstrates
the power of the universe
as it sends the rain sideways
twisting dead and
soon to be dead leaves
in its playful vortices
because my roots
are brand new
my limbs are still
thin and delicate like
soft green saplings
for awhile
i will bend
and shake
and fear
the thunder
until i dig down
far enough
in the dirt
the bending
and the shaking
is part of
the beauty
if stay here long enough
if i let the storm soak into me
instead of letting myself
run for cover
i will become
strong and steady
like an old oak tree
i will wear my growth rings
like gold metals
proudly parading
the proof of
what i have weathered
—there will be
too many to count
and i will find myself
smiling at the sky
when the dark clouds roll in
because i am
still here
still standing
after all this time.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 2:31 PM UTC
her body painfully riddled with ink,
all the moments that made her heart sink,
stories and words that intertwined within,
look for the patches of free, untouched skin.
that needle brought hope, a fresh, new beginning,
to a past that had seemed to have no chance at winning,
i smile and i'm proud of her skin being covered,
its her uniform of pride, she made it out, unbothered.
-lilac
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 5:40 PM UTC
This majestic creature glides
As she takes to the skies.
Her mind works with an eagle’s ability,
While her heart is crafted with a sparrow’s humility.
She flies not with an eagle’s pride
For her hopes are not to own the sky;
But to share it with her accompaniers
Flying never in front but alongside her peers.
She sings not with a sparrow’s naivety:
Each day unbothered and indifferently,
For the purpose of this altruist’s life
Is to serve others through sacrifice.
Although she is fearless in her flight,
She does not soar far out of sight.
She stays close to the ground, not in fear of the skies,
But in awe of the water above which she flies.
And as she departs beyond the river bend,
Her wings command the day to end.
This Blue Crane floats away effortlessly
As the sun takes a bow into the depths of the sea.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
at night, i dream of sun-drenched eggshell walls
baking in the morning like yukon gold potatoes
where we wake unbothered by the encroaching light
i’ll meet you in the kitchen to switch on the toaster oven
the coffee *** pulling our ceramic mugs from the drying rack
carrying our books with bent covers to the balcony
where you set down thick slices of french bread slathered in butter
and a bowl of fresh, cold strawberries on a small round table
that we found at a sunday yard sale two summers ago
we take turns taking crisp bites in between sips of steaming coffee
mine with raw honey and cream, yours black
our oily thumbs staining the corners of thin ivory pages
i listen to the sound of you reading; of the world waking up
birds singing their sunrise songs; and my heart
slow, and buoyant, and irrevocably yours
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 11:41 PM UTC
uttering that tenor growl
that only we salamanders know,
I will stir from my salamander bed,
slide from its clinging preservative oil
into the eerie orange of tonight’s hellish glow.
Then we will meet at the shore
of the black stagnant puddle our home,
like a monstrous bootprint
stamped in the mud of our forest.
We’ll slink towards the woods,
slowly gyrating our limbs over leaves twigs sticks
roots and stones five times our size;
a struggle to heave ourselves before
the looming, glowing trees.
At last the heat of the ash trees,
the entire forest swirls in flames,
crackling at our feet,
engorged by the unbothered blaze.
We’ll wait a pensive moment, then take
our first few steps into the burn.
Feb 5, 2010
Feb 5, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
You were there
Among millions of sweaty bodice
returning from the festivities,
Shouldn't the sky seem particular
Of a colour of a romantic being
pushing poetry in the likes
Of citizens of the night
The Universe unbothered by who killed whom
Or the philosophy of life,
Errands running from the bishop town or the markets of dream
Rush hour of the busy life,
I ask the meaning of life,
The holy pages of what not the monks, the sky,
The ask of truth, the sands of time
From a distance, you went by
And weren't a vision from the ornamental fashion they sell
I saw you never,
And I am cited for hell,
But your eyes sold the the meaning of life,
And this foolish passerby, could tell.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
Hey long time
Was his first statement
I thought I'd be excited and ready
To face him after the long break.
I couldn't
I couldn't stand the smirk in his face
The composed frame
The focused look
Who are you?
Why the heck am I the only one bothered here?
For a moment right there I was loosing it
Deep within but kept a straight look
Unbothered by what was happening on the outside
While the inside was nothing but chaos
The long hug after seeing me
Affirmation that we will be fine.
I chuckled coz that possibility is a
Forgotten story
And I'm not willing to dig up
The skeletons in that grave.
When you left I died
My corpses gently placed in the tomb
Of never will I ever
But look at me now.
I have it all
Peace
Stability
Joy
Purpose
Fun
But the saddest tell of our tale
Is that your absence
Will always drive me to
The point of never mind.
Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 5:48 PM UTC
When the titles turn to grey
Each bitter ash a story untold
A breaking mold on the fray
Your a big girl all the way
But what do I need that I don't have?
Each breath a sin, each exhale a salutation
We are God's unwanted children
There on the horizon is our unholy pollution
When I knew my mind I knew myself
But the press of the matter is not there where it starts
I have a room and it is mine, but the key
Is nowhere in a place that I can rightly see
Listen to the blows of the wind without your ears
A children's scream echoes, so rightly near
Poe danced in the asylum's of madness and its prayers
But whose to say that love also doesn't Fear?
I can hear the whip of the way
The way our forefather's used to play
And of course our skin tingles as we mingle
With the one's we used to enslave
I wear the cloak of eternity
You see my eyes but lo', they are not mine
I dance beneath your very veins
And the pen is where I hold my flaming reins
I ask only for bread
I ask only for butter and
Water that tastes like the tears of mother
All others should be left by the door, unbothered.
Take me for what I am
A mule with only a man's mind
A body that one day will break,
A recognition that I - not myself - keep in repression
For the sunset keeps me amused
The tools of my own body screams
And as I watch the cream of the scheme rise
To the tip top, I inhale to make time stop
I've got my hat on, but where's my love?
I see a bed, but the sheets are made of lead
I need a road, a story untold
A life whose line will never run cold
I see where the line is supposed to end
When the words end n' you've got nothing else to send
But whose words are these if I've got nothing to lend?
My rose bushes are fine, I've got nothing in this world to tend
Each lonesome note
Across this valley of tears
Is what is just too hard to bear
A turn in the tide
Time in my own memory
Too tough to tear and throw away
A thorn I'm forced to hold near
One day I'll see clear
Why it was even there
Minutes on minutes of minute time
In pendulum we justify each step
Our heart beat is our unrest
The beat of our neighbor's walls our anxiety
There are no more blankets to cover the world
We are out of detergent to keep ourselves clean
The lines of the supermarket are too long and
Were out of cream to keep our girls rightly esteemed
I'm headed out of this place
But no time soon
As for the weather
Ask for the flapper's in the smoky ballroom
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
The ocean is not blue
The sky is
Who knew?
It was all our point of view
Clouds are not fluffy
Your eyes must be puffy
How would we know?
What exactly is snow?
Ice crystals that fall from a cloud
On to an unbothered crowd
~11/5/21
May 11, 2021
May 11, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
In 1558 Pieter Brueghel painted
Icarus falling to the blue and green water
in a darkened corner, out of sight
He crashed close to shore
between a fisherman busy reviewing his catch
and a great ship with its sails being pulled
farther and farther into the sea
He sank and drowned quietly
while the whole world carried on
unbothered by death and tragedy
tending to their plows and herds
They’ll come back tomorrow
to plow their fields and steer their herds
with the same thoughts, an endless loop
even when a boy falls from the sky
And like my house falling to pieces
of white rubble and shattered glass
The screams are kept between the walls,
but the windows are paintings
of young boys falling to the floor
silently, unnoticed by the world
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
It comes and goes as waves do in the ocean
As I sit alone I unknowingly become drowned in my thoughts
Thoughts of you, me, and what we could become
but the more I think the less I see a future that has both you and I
As one
I may seem unbothered by these thoughts, but in my mind I am swimming towards a shore that does not exist and am forced to bathe in these thoughts
Alone
The longer I am left in these waters I fear the shore may never come,
that I am dammed to swim in circles
My thoughts of you leave me drowning
What makes all this pain seem worse is that I am the only one who can save me,
I am the only one who can make the shore appear.
Oct 5, 2022
Oct 5, 2022 at 6:57 AM UTC
I want you to come. I don't mean this in some sort of lustful way (although I feel some sort of passion) , but I mean in want you to come as in here. Here. You were here at some point in time, but your body was here and your mind was floating off into the ignite regions of space, regions I could only dream about, almost the way I dreamt about the day you'd stop looking through me as though I were some sort of ghost. Funny how you treat me like a ghost, but I feel so human when I think about my feelings for you and everything in respects to you. Over 70% of your body is water, but the rain doesn't feel as good as your hands falling onto my skin. Your hands tug on my shirt the same way you tug on my mind when my shirt is unbothered, but there is more to love than tugging, darling. And there is more to tugging then just my teeth on your bottom lip. There is more to anything if you dig deep enough, so I try to remember to dig deeper scratches into your back and hope that I might find my way to your heart. It's hard though, because I haven't even felt your ribcage yet.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
If I could
I would let some people go, convince them I'm contagious and that I'm no good,
Some other people, I will walk out on, call them to meet,
but don't show up
If I could
I would paint my face ***** erasing my features, resembling a liar or a beggar.
I would then walk about invisible. I would cry a lot, everywhere unbothered.
Next, I would walk between borders, crossing lines, entering and exiting territories.
I would do that,
If I could
Mar 24, 2020
Mar 24, 2020 at 9:17 PM UTC
The world
had to stop
For this victory
I'm joyus
I'm angry
I'm still angry
I want to bring black life
Into this world without
Us having to
Do this ****
I want us
To grow old,
Be unscathed,
Be unbothered,
And flourish
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
In the stands the crowds cheer,
It's what they do best.
And in class the professor lectures,
About the greatness expected for every test.
And at home the parents preach,
About the wrong that shouldn't be done.
And outside the officers enforce,
With their hands firmly on their guns.
But nobody ever teaches you,
How to handle the disappointed faces.
When you've gone down your own path.
Leaving the rest still in their braces.
Nobody ever tells you,
That the disappointment is rough.
That handling what can't be handled,
Is nonsensically tough.
So here I am to write it.
In hopes that it will be read.
In fragment whims of lyrical rhymes,
Incompetently attempting to ease the dread.
Take these words and conquer.
Take them as weapons like swords.
So when they judge and cast their mockery.
Your arsenal of protection is what wards.
Let you be safe and sound during the fight.
And walk unbothered by those with selfish plight.
And journey till you reach the destination of choice,
Where freedom rings in the form of your own voice.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
Pulling at opposite ends of a rope
we put in our best effort
we both won the contest, darling.
and bragged of our power.
I have nothing left at this hour
Except for a rope around my neck
made out of your honeyed voice
confessing love over and over again
Alas! choking is not much of a choice
a dancing derelict dream in my eyes
along with each cell in my heart dies
Poor wretched foolish ghost of mine
now revolves around your house
like a twitching old mouse
to make sure you drink your tea
Every afternoon, but you
Still, unbothered and lowkey
As if the wind took away some dust
off street
And I, gone, with bones and meat.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC