"uninterested" poems
Its a scam, its a scam, see the Crimson Gang deftly scamming them
They by sleight have befuddled gullible masses Moral Compass
Made them see wrong as right twisting their brains from the stem
With deceitful guile they shepherded them all to the fools' campus
Slander and fake News galore fed to vacant hungry masses scrum
Knowledge is power the reprobates declares, do not let it pass
We're the majority the bullies screams, knowing they're just scums
Worthless charlatans who rob successes and **** without cutlass
They take a foregone conclusion and coat it with fool's gold crumb
A victim with no intention of going after an uninterested lass
Dumb masses fed fake news fooled into harassing actions dumb
A non-event becomes a show of the controlling might of our class
Crimson gangs interpret a non-events from his deluded sad drum
Creates a warped sick drama round a hapless victim for laughs
Gives street theater actions to masses, these will oppose and numb
Whilst poor victim subjected to 'voiding' madness wonders past
The Crimson leaders laugh so much like pirates drinking ***
Look how we manipulate the masses, they are so simple and crass
With our devious twisting propaganda they eat out of our ***
We simply use them to nail and crucify our victim to the cross
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
Maybe the reason why I haven't watched Star Wars yet is not because I'm uninterested to start watching it, but because I'm waiting for someone to watch it with. Maybe a Star Wars geek, particularly.
And he'd tell me jokes with a Star Wars reference and at first I'd blankly look at him, but after watching I'd laugh with him.
Maybe we'd get lightsabers and play with it together.
Maybe, just maybe.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
All of my life I dreamed of meeting one with immense beauty, and once
I found her I would charm her and she'd be mine forever
I have found her and indeed she is all
I wished for and more but she is
Not charmed nor intrigued
Then I think 2 myself
"What can I offer her?"
The tears warm my eyes and blur my
Vision
I stick 2 my stance of bravado
And give her the same uninterested look she gave me
She was so beautiful
But what can I offer her
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC
Silver screen athletes
quitting soccer teams
to join homophobic friends
(redneck quasi outdoors-men)
who just want to **** animals
angst must be vented
lest it boil inside
and form a much darker concoction.
I beat the horse
'till I couldn't get it wrong
even then
the faceless desks of power
endorse eugenics,
pharmaceuticals,
and high profile lawyers
sentencing me to a life's term
teaching Sophocles
to an uninterested fifteen year old
too busy stroking a Ritalin limp ****
to star censored ladies on Vegas stripper cards.
And he said "Watch your language"
when I said "What the ****
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 3:10 PM UTC
Standing at the Rijksmuseum
we find ourselves part of a lesson,
a lesson by a master in his craft.
Our company seven men
some look at us some look away
while Dr. Tulp, our eighth man
digs into the elefant in the room.
The cool body lies bare
like light were coming out of it
reflecting on the faces of the more curious,
leaving in shadows the uninterested ones.
The dead arm opened wide,
some lesson on tendons or bones.
Three hundred and fifty years
mute the master's words so clear
make the master's brushes so loud.
It was a time of studied ignorance,
of white collars on shallow knowledge
when my favourite of the Old Masters was born.
Retract.
Step back into our reality
observe the beatiful museum
for we are before one of its finest pieces.
But it's hard.
It ***** you in.
Something about the crepuscular glow of the body
makes you get stuck in it.
Observe the perfect composition,
the diverse faces.
It's like a photograph taken at a random instant
yet so deliberate,
so randomly deliberate,
so deliberatly random.
But step back,
look at the whole thing,
it's just
so
beautiful.
You could say it's just 3D
masterfully represented in 2D
but it is not,
there's something more to it.
Something you could call extradimensional.
It's like if the artist knew the algorithms our mind follows
and knew the exact input needed for the desired output,
beauty,
art,
even shock.
Let's move on to the next painting,
but don't let this image fade away,
let it rest,
let it click,
and let it grow
in you.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 8:29 AM UTC
I have a hard time writing about anger because ...
Anger is just sadness in a lower octave
Anger is a knot between the shoulder blades
Anger is a loud voice in an even louder room
Anger is a distant daydream gaze
Anger is a fire sustained by silence
Anger is hearing your voice in another body
Anger sounds a lot like "Sorry, I've been busy"
Anger is realizing busy really means uninterested
Anger is thinking you are in charge of your reaction
Anger is knowing you're a breath from bursting
Anger is breathing shallow to hide the shake
Anger is saying things you don't mean
Anger is not saying things you do mean
Anger is a fickle thing
Anger is just heartbreak wearing a cowards face
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 5:21 AM UTC
I know what I am. . .
I am uninterested
I am insecure
I am a manipulator
I am an introvert
I am a self saboteur
I carry a reputation for things
I dont even do anymore
who goes out of his way to hurt himself
and pushes away those who try to help
I act like a sarcastic *******
to ride the borderline
of seriousness
I am what the doctors would call
a high functioning alcoholic
I am a *****
I am lonely
I am seriously flawed,
but at least I am not you.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
It's common knowledge that after getting a phone number,
one must wait three whole days before giving a call,
to make sure the interaction remains calculatedly casual,
as opposed to needy or uninterested,
which is complete cupid ****
It's appalling that one's intense desire to contact an individual one is drawn to,
is not seen as a mere gesture of sentiment or affection,
but rather weakness and vulnerability.
Even in the darkest and drunkest hours
there will be no super likes,
for no one can afford to wear the heart on their sleeves,
in this world of left and right swipes.
The chase is so overrated not only does it never end,
but also overlooks the catch even when it's finally caught.
True feelings disguised by emojis concentrated into 140 characters
ridicule the ideology of love and romance,
when really we're nostalgic of the times,
we once murmured into brick sized cordless phones at wee hours in the morning,
"you hang up... nooo you hang up first..."
When did meeting the parents not become meeting the parents,
but rather the quick show of another chick to flaunt how well life is going at the moment?
When did compartmentalizing life mean pursuing romantic relationships over the weekends only?
When did to love, to want, to need, to show affection become such girly things,
those who are engulfed by romantic comedies and sensitivity did?
All I really want is to call you and tell you how much I miss you,
and just listen to you breath even if you don't have anything to say.
But, I guess I'll just wait for you to whatsapp me sometime during the weekend...
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
depression
is not crippling sadness
as most think it is.
well, sometimes.
it is
apathy
most of the time
who cares?
no point.
everything *****
I lost my job today
cried, a little
but I cry about everything.
mainly
apathetic
now I truly have no reason
to ever get out of bed
sure,
I'll look for another
way
to live
but this *****
leaves me with no motivation
no motivation
to apply to colleges,
even though I have
a 3.9 GPA
no motivation
to hang out with friends
even though I am
lonelier than ever
no motivation
to eat food
even though I am
starving
after
I left my now "old work"
I had the impulsive decision
to rescue a dog.
maybe
if I have another creature
to look after
love
feed
I will start
to care for myself, too.
the shelter
made my heart hurt
the kittens
weren't crying
just
sleeping
in their jail cells
uninterested
in life
or their possible new
friend
looking at their possible
rescuer
with disinterest
looking
through their cage
like me.
finnegan
was a terrier mix
a stray
he was whining
licked
my hand
when I reached to him
eight years old
missing
his right eye
life has trampled him
yet he is not hardened
I cried
with him
as I walked him
around the play area
he sniffed everything he could.
curious
investigating
not crying anymore
just happy to be free
from the hell in his cage
he
treated the workers
with affection
like he treated me
with affection
it took awhile
until he came close
and cried while I pat him
climbed in my lap
and cried
I know
buddy
walked him inside.
the woman,
at the counter
looked at me eagerly,
"so?!"
I looked away.
can't
do it
not
today
I'm sorry
him and I
are both looking
for affection
love
a way out of this mess.
but
I can't help him.
no job,
no sure way I can buy him food
buy me food.
I can't
buy a living creature
out of impulse.
he needed security
I cannot provide that
only warmth.
I need to be happy
he cannot provide that
only warmth.
goodbye,
cutie
puller of heartstrings
I promise
someone better than me
will take you away.
not today
lost myself
lost my passion
lost my lust
lost my job
lost
my
soul.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC
Hi, my name is NotGoodEnough
But you can call me:
BadListener
Uninterested
Indecisive
TooTired
Lazy
Boring
Uncomfortable
Insecure
Or Unfocused
At least, that's what he calls me
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC
Routine is a maze.
Tracing a rigid line,
Landing at it’s precise destination.
Confined to its habitual course,
Without alteration,
The path unchanging; dull.
I become uninterested.
Blasé towards existence,
A lack of verve and vigor
Burns inside me.
Hungry by the urge to flee,
It fuels the desire within me.
I cannot endure a life of mediocrity.
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 8:37 AM UTC
Sixty years ago, you could have loved me
- a sailor, - a trophy wife, - an 'okay, fiancé' in a sarcastic legacy
A turn of the century turns you around and turns you into a (skate! jam! live in a van!) type of person that I am vastly uninterested in but just tryin' to be sad about somethin'
- I am sad about your big feet, your cuffed trousers, all the places I didn't want to run into you at and not letting that stop me from carting my coffin to Kansas City art museums
(Your love poems to me must be dried in caked-on mud from tires pulling away)
Did you know you're an accident?
- The whole crowd laughs, someone get me a microphone!
(Someone! Get me anything your mouth has touched!)
- I'll bury a vial of your organic germs in my hometown backyard to find later, when you're dead as your dangling doorknobs and disguised by giggling gargoyles (you are welcome, by the way)
Ultimate hide 'n' seek warrants a worthless existence and a holy trinity of the same name(s)
(The dog is under the bed)
(You are locked out on the back porch)
(I am fetal position in a parked car)
- Can we put this on the Christmas card?
Happy Twentieth, Darling! I Love You Very, Very, Very, Very Much.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
When I was twelve, my older sister, Annick, was in med school.
She was dedicated and incorruptible - always studying, always.
I wanted her to spend time with me, I craved her engagement.
I was jealous and mean to her, thinking her uncaring - uninterested in me.
Now, I get it. Now days, I seem to behave like a machine,
I’m busy and unapproachable - forgetting myself in function
and I’m just a lowly undergraduate.
When I think about how hard she must of been working,
I tear up, like someone hearing a sad song on the radio.
Nov 14, 2021
Nov 14, 2021 at 6:12 AM UTC
Your generation is defined by definitions.
'This generation', this new-fangled bunch of hooligans
Cut out and put in the oven,
Lives pre-formed, based on premonitions,
Put into the system and cranked out
Made up of numbers and tests that really define who you are.
'This generation' that you have given a set of rules
A set of molds to fit into
To pour their lives out and 'better the world'
Shaped with your all-knowing tools
Scissors that cut funding to the parts that maybe,
Perhaps, might make them an individual.
Because here, no, here we don't have room for individuality
But we sure have room for this assembly
Your freedom of religion, speech, and freedom to assemble
No room for that, for fear of immorality
We don't have time for originals, we don't have time for strays
I'm sorry that you've got ideas, Generation Y
But this is the generation of time constraints.
We've got technology to innovate, an ozone to fit
Communities to build and lives put at risk
But that's not as important as what's in the now
No, not as important as these tucks and nips
We've got to put you under the needle
Even after we swore, 'first do no harm',
But this isn't going to hurt, I swear
Well, maybe not on the outside.
Look here, Y, you'd be better off compliant
To fix our computers and drive our trucks
To turn off your TVs and just trust us
To read the chapter and finish the assignment
Because to us, you all learn the same,
To us you are still just a number
Even if you think you're out when you graduate.
So what, you graduated the system,
And it's done it's work on you
Have your daddy pick the college and your mama pick the sheets
Pack your bags, you're ready for the big world
And that's exactly what we made you think.
Generation Y, you are fitting into the molds we gave you
We tried to crank you out in groups of 300
And we did
You were never allowed to be original
And you weren't.
Generation Y, this cookie-cutter, uniform
'Glued to technology', uninterested
Group of 'stupid' teenagers
You were forced to unify
And forced into corrals, thereby,
Forced into lives we've blessed you with.
I swear, by my very intelligence
That we're good by you, good by the world
In evaluating what we need
Where we need people
Hopefully creating a society less-gnarled
Generation Y, you may hate the population
But you are the population
And you are what we told you to be.
Your lives were pre-formed from day one,
So, please,
Sit down, shut up, finish your definitions,
And stop asking why.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
There's all this talk around me about some profound we that's never found me
They talking a collective we?
One agreed on collectively but conveniently and continuously minus me
Is it the me, myself and I type we? Cause defining a trinity might not unveil anything holy
Or could they be referring to the we that turns to just me when things get a little bit heavy?
That kind of we?
Maybe they mean the we I'm supposed to automatically call family
Even though history will show them as a two faced enemy
Both ones I've picked or have befriended me, eventually it's contempathy from a frienemy
An uninterested we that hardly reciprocates the love that's expected to freely flow from me blindly
What baffles me still is this bloodline we that aren't even aware of me
Or they are aware just unwilling to add me to their we
Coldly my psyche reminds me, "you're nobody's somebody buddy, sorry."
Personally, I say let 'em swing from their positions above and beside me on the family tree
Unfortunately they will always be a part of the conversation when discussing this we
The good, the bad and the ugly represented by said we but projected on me
Now listen closely, I claim to have came to this conclusion organically
There is no we, only me
Nonsense spewed when angry but the me I try to hide visually, the one projecting he doesn't need a we
Cries out for somebody when times get lonely, lies and said I'm my only company
Cause I can not see the we that is meant to be, the we I thought was only a dream of a faded childhood memory
It's not only right in front of me but all around me and already a part of me
I had no idea this door even had a handle for entry with a keyhole much less a key
Apparently it was the skeleton type and had to be pulled out of me
Reality blends with fantasy in the best way, what else is there to say? I've found my we and another reason to be happy
©2023
Jun 22, 2023
Jun 22, 2023 at 2:36 PM UTC
The Taste of Bitter Grapes
November 1, 2012
The taste of bitter grapes is what they do to me.
Do they ever wonder why people are so strange?
Of course not, for they are usual as in their ordinary lives.
I make a splash, and bring tidings of vitality.
Only to flop like a fish, utterly uninterested, outside their tiny ponds.
I chomp chomp on their hearts.
Tug on their brains with my toll on their souls.
But what's in it for me?
They become another casualty, and then nothing more than my inventory.
Maybe this hole was a birth defect.
Something like a mole?
I don't really want to know.
To get on with my days, I just need it not to show.
So, solid snow of this barren baron.
Please excuse these hoes, and the rakes too.
They didn't realize they were just a sideshow.
The main attraction is to never possess any true attraction and see how these things go.
Until I finally find my first true delight.
This is my plight.
I take another bite.
Of these bitter grapes.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
Only the dead can be bored, for we are just uninterested
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
A little boy
walks up his mother and
says
“Mother,
I am
scared”
The mother will lean down
ever so gently
and say in the most
uninterested way
“There is
nothing
to be afraid
of”
The little boy
will listen
and take
that into his mind
but when the storm
comes
rocking his house
and tearing it to
small pieces
he will still be
afraid
but he will over come
it and survive
to see his house
in one piece
A young soldier
walks up to his captain and
says
“Captain,
I am
scared”
The Captain will look at him
with hard eyes
and say in the most
uninterested way
“There is
nothing
you can be afraid
of”
The young soldier
will listen
and take
that into his mind
but when the enemy
comes
killing his friends
and leaving him to
die there
he will still be
afraid
but he will over come
it and survive
to see his friends
safely recovered in the hospital
A young man
walks up to another young man and
says
“Man,
I am
scared”
The other young man won’t even look at him
putting him on edge
and say in the most
uninterested way
“Then you’re
letting
someone scare
you”
The young man
will listen
and take
that into his mind
but when his life
starts moving
making him more
afraid than ever
and he refuses help
for fear of being
afraid even more
he will still be
afraid
but he will not over come
it and he shall only survive
to see that other young man
take over the duties that he
was unable to perform
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 10:24 AM UTC
Hum... rattle, rattle
Lift eyes from the floor
Up through scratched windows
Who scratches windows?
Another fence
Hiss... doors open again
Uninterested...
Hiss... and closed
No time for your fellow man here
Wondering about those scratches still
Another passing, eyes on the floor
Interesting...
Far more so then them
Temporary companions
Another fence, with bars this time
Hiss... doors open again
...Strange
Hiss... and closed
Scratched windows pass by them
Seriously who scratches windows?
Unkempt yards, barking dogs
More temporary companions
This is my stop
Eyes still on the floor
Uninterested
Hiss... doors open once more
Eyes leave the floor finding only ground
Hiss... and closed again
Scratched windows passing by
Still no answer for that
Hum... rattle, rattle
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
We learn so much
We learn it all too late
Value of dreams, love, life
In favour of money, left to wither
Our children grow, uninterested in the passage of time
One last game of catch, tea, band practice
Whilst we look at budget reports
Time closes in
Wide, innocent eyes
Become wise and concerned
Each year, feeling shorter and shorter
While the visits to the doctor become longer and longer
The kids start to visit less
We never earned their time
We never tried our best
It all went by so fast
We, I, could have been better
Present, caring
Awake to that which made them smile
Even after they left home,
Should have seen, should have known
There was love inside their hearts
But we grew up blind
And now it's twilight
And the sun is already gone
We learn so much
We learn it all too late
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 3:16 AM UTC
You owe me nothing but to breathe.
To remember how I tore my heart in
Two rendering a
Blood Eagle to stretch its wings and
Tickle our souls with its sticky feathers.
When I think of us, I see us as we were.
Other people than now.
Memories framing themselves like a
Fantastic painting the artist
Stepped back to admire, then died.
*Hang me. Hang me before i hang
Myself.*
Dramatically opposed to drama.
Uninterested infatuation.
Broke billionaire.
Mortal gods shaking divine hands
With decomposing composers,
Thanking them for the silence.
We were lovers and enemies, and
I'd still give my life and afterlife to
See you worship another as if I
Never left a fingerprint on this
Planet; resting as safely in arms that
Love you unendingly,
As we all lie sleeping; dreaming
In our own, stronger arms,
Forgetting that even our loving
Is imaginary.
Death is awakening.
Rubbing the
Eyes of our souls and yawning,
We look up and smile at that which
All of this is a bleak and fleeting
Shadow of.
Plato knew.
When I wish to die, I do too.
This love is not Love.
It's all mud and air.
You owe me nothing but to breathe.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
unheard
unseen
unconscious
uninterested
unloved
unwanted
unbecoming
unable
unnamed
unattached
unattractive
unbounded
unchanged
I feel
all of these things
at once.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC