"uninvolved" poems
I want to learn to be the girl that is so numb, that she can forget her past and move along as though nothing has ever happened to her in life. Just a clean slate; passing through life. Taking each day as it comes with no memories and no preconceived notions about the world and the people that occupy it. The girl too careless to react or over-react. The girl so uninvolved that she dare not take chances and risk ******** things up. The girl that is just there, un-noticed. Then I could play the part of someone that others can get used to having around. Then I could be content with myself.
k.d.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
Writer, musician, painter,
singer, photographer, poet,
journalist. humanist, artist,
intellect, reader, advocate,
but somehow never enough
for the the uninvolved parents,
the relatives that only send cards,
the fair weather friends,
and the not-so-helpful critics,
but most importantly, you.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:03 AM UTC
With very few people out there speaking
It makes me wonder how many have prayed
Forgiveness is what I will be seeking
For the apathy that I have displayed
So many have fallen, some who were teens
But after all, death is so depressing
I continue with my daily routines
With the emotions I am suppressing
Now I feel like I am being hunted
I have become prey to my moral sense
With ghosts of the dead I am confronted
That I am uninvolved is a pretense
Thousands die as I watch a news story
My conscience hunts and I am the quarry
© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved,
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
Numb
Numb
Numb
So
uninvolved
invisible
It's the same routine
anesthetize me
Feel me
I'm done
dumb
numb
I feel the love-hate
Tell me, do you feel it?
Tell me you feel it
Tell me you feel
Numb
Numb
Numb
They still believe
I feel
I live
I love
Numb
Numb
Numb
Feel my drug
The toy I am
The game you are
Let me feel
numb
numb
done.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
The language of Los Angeles
gets lost in translation.
Even the rain clouds
drop their contents
with an unfamiliar accent.
The peculiar way
she tilts her head,
the distinct way
she crosses her legs,
are every bit incorrect.
The uninvolved way
she sits, steps, speaks,
alludes to her lack
of the irrepressible nature
surrounding her day.
"The rest is rust
and stardust."
She is quite
American.
There is no turning of the shadow
under a European sun.
The silence of her heart,
the stillness in her limbs,
is barren, muted,
her leaves brittle.
In the breezy part
of the afternoon,
her core lay hollow
and unfelt,
regardless of...
He wakes her,
demurely she makes
an effort at soixante-neuf,
arbitrarily she bends for him.
"Her dream-gray gaze
never flinches."
She is quite
American.
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 4:35 PM UTC
You Should -'Walk Your Dog'
Tense.
All snappy your dog is.
kept behind a fence.
Don't you know it's the cause of his obstreperousness?
Depressed,
You can tell by his scruffy look.
Uninvolved.
It's only the start of change on a ticking clock.
Is he just an ornament?
...There for you to show off?
I hope not.
For he's a living creature who didn't ask for his life to be cut off.
Don't be so stuck up.
Karma's a b*tch.
You should start putting consideration on top,
Or else, revenge might just end up kicking you in a ditch.
© J-d S. J
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
She swallow the sun, before the days begun,
keeping him in the dark, with her silly little lies.
He prays she finds love and he hopes that it's he.
He's scored long enough, he knows it's only in his head.
He watches from afar, while she's beside him in bed,
Pretty as a poem he read.
There, but uninvolved, someone is waiting round the bend-
This dream is just a page he read.
He's been here before, an old hand at goodbye,
years are moving on to a safe and cozy night:
where slide shows flicker on walls of unknown photo scrawls
and moments covered in dust,
dead forgotten trust.
If only she belonged to a wasted life with him:
grounded, broken and free;
with few Hollywood lights hanging on her tree,
a sense of sanity.
She is held like a doll that can never love back,
plastic blue eyes keep him entrapped.
Compromising compassion compels him to her door-
He swears he's been here before...
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC
how i feel is irrelevant
compared to the vast beauty
of the open plains
of liquid gold before me
drowning in the changing waters
undecided whether they are black or blue
quite like me
undecided
uninvolved
un- enthused, emotional, clear
but where is my clarity?
for i've been travelling without it
in what seems like an endless time
and i cannot remember where i began
through grass
through trees
walls houses
people
i've swept through them without notice
as if they were shadows on my ceiling
that i stare at instead of sleeping
sometimes i wonder if they're real
or if i conjured them there
to conquer this lack of feeling
maybe if this were a fairy tale
i'd have the shadows align an army
strong and steady
and someone would fight through
and banish them
but alas
i have grown accustomed to these shadows
and i am no damsel
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
Samaria can burn for all i care.
unchecked **** existed there as well.
each of us is torn.
you dare proclaim: you love me now.
but acts of speech will not belie
your inner need.
i will not
return your spineless love
i only see you as you were
passing me
another errant body uninvolved
you haven't changed
your distant eyes avert
your guilt to span the globe
your condescending anger
poorly compensates
your shame
you chose a silence then,
seeing from afar,
you ran and wrote a story
as if my story were a gem
as if your facets claim a right
to make of me a cause
so now i lock you eye to eye.
you owe me nothing,
my pleading done
i'm only here to shout --
to poison what you see as well --
to crack you into seeing hell as hell
sweet weakness soothed you
just for being powerless
while i retched in corners,
alleys, on the train
my captors blinded me
to hide themselves
but you see.
and you flail with understanding,
broken more than me.
you mutter pridefully
you're 'bearing witness'
... but an aperture of musing
only fades into the smoke
you ****
into a screen
regurgitating pity
to be swallowed by your peers,
you have found your hiding spot
in brightness, plugging in
no longer even passing by
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
Thank you for the invitation.
It truly means a lot.
but see, there is an indication.
the stable has been locked.
I can't consider diving.
I'm already waterlogged.
it's best to not be trying.
best to remain uninvolved.
I'm definitely nobody's prince,
I hope I am not charming.
my heartstrings are already tangled
we both found your poems alarming.
But keep on wandering along, friend,
professing love to random poets.
I'm busy with my own happy end,
and you'll find yours, I know it.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
You holding the pan, hands shaking, pan seesawing
Me feeling doom growing in the air like electricity building
You crumbling
Me swallowing danger
Them coming through the door, a bed on wheels
Me thinking that was funny
Him in the background, acting uninvolved
Me standing on the couch, forbidden
You lying on the funny bed
Me wondering if they would laugh at your clown slippers
You…I can’t see your face
Me looking at him
Him sending me away
Me sleeping in the neighbor’s bathtub, where it was safe.
You. Alone.
Me. Alone.
Him. Alone.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
How long have you been loading those
armour-piercing
0.30 caliber
bullets of regret into your mouth?
Do you fire them at will?
Does the safety
(of holding your tongue)
sometimes get neglected
(like you)?
When will you learn that holding your fire protects
not only uninvolved civilians
but also the ones close to you?
When will the war against yourself end?
Do you think a ceasefire will highlight the blood
that stains your hands,
the lives you took with your bullets?
The dead don't listen
but the living make you wish you couldn't
either.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
If you were still breathing in my universe,
I might see you as a
mediocre
being.
But it seems that, as you are;
uninvolved and out of sight,
I see you as I last saw you -
a large, black, grimace
on the face of true self.
Oh, I'm not angry or saddened.
In fact, I'm grateful!
But that doesn't keep me
from seeing all of your negative energy
as it swims around,
******* itself
into it's own black hole.
It's interesting how,
when I first loved you,
I was blind to your darkness.
and,
when I first hated you,
I was blind to your light.
Either way,
I was blind
during all of our firsts.
I do not hate you and I haven't
for some time.
But that grimace
is a tainted memory that,
no matter how many times I cross-examine it,
seems to hold as much truth as you do.
Who knows, really,
who you are?
Who really knows anyone -
loved, or not?
hated, or not?
I certainly don't know you,
and I probably never did.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
I look at my reflection
In the mirror.
I smile,
it smiles back.
I frown,
it returns the frown.
It simply imitates.
It is not me,
merely a witness...
Unthinking
Uninvolved
Unaffected
Unknowing
I observe the mind,
a traffic of thoughts.
I get involved
and realize
I am not the thought,
merely a witness...
Indifferent
Insignificant
Inactive
Invisible
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
you get me
and that's not true
at all
and every time i say
the stuff that makes me
me
you scowl
or roll your eyes
*let's fumble through the *** part*
and get it over with
*1 ****
i don't need your life story
i don't need a date to prom
you get me
is it true?
at all?
i just need you
to validate the parts of me
that make me
me
when i speak
you seem uninvolved
or somewhere else
*let's just stumble to the *** part*
my hands on you,
your hands on me
*1 good ****
i don't need reality
i don't need you
you get me–
you don't get me
at all
and you can't find love
in a bathroom stall
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 1:41 AM UTC
I’m enjoying spending time with my mom - we have an intimacy braided like rope. I forgot how funny she is. At the same time, we’ve been softcore arguing for days.
She wants me to accomplish something this summer - to pad my med-school resume - do anything but relax. But I refuse. If I’m going to complete a master's degree next summer, then I’m going to have fun this summer. Periodt. I’m not an automaton for her to wind. Her stress radiates, as I play Animal Crossing on the couch.
I reach up towards her forehead, “Is there an off button?” I ask.
“Go away,” she chuckles, blocking my hand.
Before I turn away, I add, “You’re the most fun when you’re not giving advice or saying the wrong things..”
“Or breathing incorrectly?” She finished my sentence.
“Exactly,” I laughed, “then you’re practically perfect.”
The boys - Peter (my BF) and Step (my stepfather) - sit or stand, uninvolved, outside the action, like we’re in some other dimension - they try and look at anything but us when we’re wrangling.
Poetry time!
The phantoms of my discontent
are held at bay, by leisure,
are mollified by pleasure.
Am I crazy to set boundaries?
Am I lazy, cause I won’t let her chivvy me?
I’ve got my own voice; I’ll make my own choices.
We have the same goals - but I’m in control.
For every plan I’ve got, she has a hundred caveats.
Sure, I’ve done nothing, while she’s done it all.
I’m her little rocket that she doesn’t want to stall.
But she needs to understand, I’ve left the launching pad.
.
.
songs for this…
Mama by Spice Girls
Hey Mama by Kanye West
Mama, I'm a Big Girl Now by Nikki Blonsky, Marissa Jaret Winokur, Ricki Lake, Motion Picture Cast of Hairspray
.
periodt ← slang for absolute period
May 18, 2024
May 18, 2024 at 1:29 PM UTC
Next Spring I will move. The Wisconsin
winds will sweep me from this house
of yours where I no longer belong.
You climbed the lattice of the cold
Winter. I was your bounty. Now
I can leave the brown sugar color
of this apartment. There are scrapes
on white walls from your wheelchair.
The family will not care and for that,
I will not ask.
I am through writing thank you notes
and receiving the few callers who
patted me for your loss.
Spring is too far away for intimate
details. The shaking tree limbs
will be quiet and the annual
equinox will welcome new growth
and knitted sorrows.
We were an uninvolved lot,
the children and you and I.
So I will write again
on my calendar. No one will ever
remember that it was I who took
your hand,
your heart,
your suffering
to the last
quiet sigh.
Caroline Shank
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 8:54 PM UTC
Let the uncashed lie
unimportant at the present moment
let them be my make-shift mutiny
Let the untouched wait
delay pleasure and torment both
Until the suffering transforms
Revealing more pleasure than I've earned
And so, suffering gives way to sorrow,
sorrow gives way to woe
Senseless action is given thoughtful meaning
Sequence is deemed absent and uninvolved
We can fool ourselves as whole
But let us not take in on our own
We must not let this go
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
A cosmic invitation in his slightly uninvolved eyes
shows me a shared future, or an immediate demise
It flashes quickly
he, lagging,
sticks around to keep up with me
me, bragging,
to no one of the secret we keep
loving and feeling, we'd fall right asleep
Underneath the same clean linen sheet
that look, ensaring
me into that "I-must-give-in" trap
his voice, daring
What do lovers do right before a nap?
Everything he says: an allusion to later
he likes to prepare me, just to make sure
Then before I know it:
His arm squeezing my neck
like its always been our thing
as proudly, I look
at my new wedding ring.
and then his body swings right by me
and the eyebrows he gave me probably didn't mean a thing
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
I’m in the kitchen at Lisa’s. Her little sister Leeza enters, her pale, freckled face redder than usual. “Liza is the bossiest sister..,” Leeza says, slamming the cupboard door after grabbing a box of Fruity-Pebbles-cereal like she’s choking the life out of it.
Lisa enters from the hall, her jaw set with tension, she waves her “La Mer” makeup bag, wildly, letting its very existence, there in the kitchen, function as angry exposition. “YOU,” she practically screams and then shaking with outrage, she begins more calmly. “You can’t use someone else's makeup and ESPECIALLY not their brushes!!” She had begun under control but with each word her message grew emotionally.
“I didn’t hurt anything!” Leeza answered venomously back, giving as good as she got.
I lean with my **** against the waist high kitchen island, slowly letting myself slide down to where I’m not visible, into a sitting position on the floor, as the fight quickly escalates.
Have you ever been a guest somewhere, when there’s a sibling fight or other parents start yelling at a friend? All you can do is try and become invisible - or pretend to text on your phone like you can’t hear the turmoil.
I catch a motion out of the corner of my eye, it’s their mom, Karen, motioning me, with a side-bob of her head, into the living room. I quietly, crouchingly exit the kitchen - the fight reaching full, nuclear bloom.
I join her on a white sectional, breathing a sigh of relief. We’re far enough away from the action to feel uninvolved. I like Karen a lot. She's warm, open and always seems to be suppressing a smile when watching her girls. She’s a lawyer. “You’re officially part of the family,” she says, as she takes a sip of coffee, “they don’t fight in front of company.” I grin.
Somewhere just below the tumult, I hear a dad’s deep, male voice, “Excuse me?” he says, and the fight is instantly over. There is a moment of deafening quiet. “It’s NOTHING,” both girls say, a second later, in perfect, synchronized, bored-sounding unison.
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 7:49 AM UTC
How disbelieving and cruel
That we are embroiled in wars
Yet no one takes charge
No one takes hold of the pain
Not until they've seen blood
Peppering the ground like a vineyard
And canyons like fireworks
In the air
Not until the ghost of Hiroshima
Haunts their backyards
Not until their souls jump out
of their doors
Not until the streets carpet enemy boots
Not until guns lay in tables with the evening coffee
Not until the television casts a shadow of panic
Not until then, even.
Not until gunpowders fuse in with the uninvolved morning dew
Not until everyone talks about it
Not until expensive towers devalue into rubbles
Not until a dreaded call about the dead stabs a mother's ears
Not until a child becomes an urchin on the streets with no memory of his father
Not until bones break, souls crush under the gripping theatrics of war.
Not until the eyes see what the mind does not believe.
Not until nightmares take shape in stories
And maybe not even then.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
for all his life he stood alone
observing
a sovereign being he felt uninvolved unmoved.
He had the intercourses in community college
humanities and social sciences, he still felt
separate.
He had a very neat flat, on the commons.
Kept it, oh, so neat. He kept on seeing all others as
being another course. Then when a day came he felt,
he saw a girl get hurt, I won't go into details, but,
his education did not help him.
He had to intervene. So he took his ball in his hand, bowed up
became a man.Was a hero for a moment, then.
He turned out dead with a hand full of nuts.
I am proud of him.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
I have refuse to stumble through life
unaware,
uninvolved,
impaired
Through sickness
I have discovered the function of being
Through numbness
I have discovered the absence of unity
Through hardship
I have discovered the importance of strength
I refuse to be amused by satirical death
I will not to be confined by the silent lapse of time
I will not be a prisoner to my own mind
I speak only to the passing tides,
with a mended broken heart and honest lies
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
I can't say how I'm feeling,
But this feeling isn't right.
I was reminded last time
Why I'm staying home tonight.
My views are contradicting
Their feeling of what's right.
Their words cannot convince me,
As they're failing to provide.
It is with hope,
My words convince you
As I give my reason why.
It is not yours to decide
The outcome of my plight.
Smoke fills the air,
They whisper prayers.
Uninvolved, I stand up tall.
What I was taught are not the laws,
I will stay home all night long.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC