"unrelated" poems
each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our necessities
including love,
rest on foundations of sand -
and any given cause,
no matter how unrelated:
the death of a boy in Hong Kong
or a blizzard in Omaha ...
can serve as your undoing.
all your chinaware crashing to the
kitchen floor, your girl will enter
and you'll be standing, drunk,
in the center of it and she'll ask:
my god, what's the matter?
and you'll answer: I don't know,
I don't know ...
7.2k
She captioned his heart like she captioned
her own pictures of herself:
seemingly profound but obvious
and unrelated to whatever
touch-screen-camera-phone-app filter she used
to unshade her blackness,
his blackness,
their blackness; with digital
skin-lightening cream.
As if to be dark was a sin.
And so she edited herself
to forgive herself.
Because Jesus had eyes the colour of her contact lenses.
Blue.
Because to be holy is to be arbitrary.
Because to caption his heart like she captioned herself
was easier than to just ask for his soul
through a no make-up selfie.
Or whatever else she thinks is actually her,
but still isn't.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
A psychedelic substance
A psychedelic substance
Drugs. Drugs a unrelated substance.
familiar states of consciousness, familiar states.
A stimulation
A stimulation of the body
in my body
the drug, with the familiar states of consciousness
familiar states
Oh God, oh Jesus
The hallucinogens as known as drugs
consciousness
Jesus, a pusher, a dealer
a psychedelich *******
a Psychedelich mushroom
like the substance
the psychedelic substance
Capture your attention
in a box
in your mind
in your psychedelic jesus mind
Jesus was a pusher
jesus was a drug addict
a psychodelic drug addict with drums around his neck
Feelings, euphoria, empathy
for Jesus
Love, heightened self-awereness
only for Jesus
Only for my dealer
Increased sensuality, increased awareness of sensation.
Creativity, paranoia
Paranoia over Jesus
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
Piggies dancing, floating along narrow passages towards what they hope is their ends. Their means have been stolen and packaged and sold by big suited, corporate, handy-handy machines. They eat piggies every day and love it, love it, love it down their gullet.
They are not worth a mention yet they get it, they want nothing but your attention, they don’t need it yet they get it. Their appetites are insatiable and contagious, they use it against us by showing us how we are nothing but what they are and we are fools enough to take it as Truth.
Shame.
We have shame because they debase us and hence debase themselves.
We have shame because we see their debasement and yet powerlessness is in our bones.
We have shame because all we want is not all we get and nowhere near all we deserve,
-it measures much lower.
It is irrelevant, it is biased, it is useless, IT is un-real-(UnRealistic, UnRelated, UnTrue)
Lie.
If my breath stinks or my hair is greasy or my cloths ***** my teeth yellowed, my feet smelly, my nails long, my social life quiet and solicitous- will you discern a negativity in my human-ness? We are no villains. We hate only those who would have us believe that we must hate ourselves and each other. They are no beasts like us. The animal within, encased by a carapace of Humanity glued and mortared by self-centered ideologies gets too thick and you must break it by looking at yourself. ******** and ******* and spitting and grunting and moaning in ecstasy and pain.
Repeat after me and say it loud with beastly yell “ I am a ********* beautiful Animal!”
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
The random mysteries in the universe are unrelated.
Pure lies
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
The good thing about a tortoise
is that he carries time on his
shoulder
and does not have to run
to cry.
He is like a river
flowing backward,
climbing the rocks on which her mother
had bitten
to un-feel the pain of origination
(so as to cast a glimpse on her nest
in the mountain).
He is a figure, a language, a sun
whose force is sustained by his own spirit -
unrelated: unlike a star,
a night, a candlelight.
He is his own version
of the light and the rite
and the fight sisyphean.
© LazharBouazzi
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
The good thing about a tortoise
Is that he carries time on his
shoulder
and does not have to run
to cry.
He is like a river
flowing backward,
climbing the rocks on which her mother
had bitten
to un-feel the pain of origination,
so as to cast a glimpse on her nest
in the mountain.
He is a figure, a language, a sun
whose force is sustained by his own spirit -
unrelated, unlike a star,
a candle, a night.
He is his
own version
of the light,
and the rite,
and the fight
Sisyphean.
© Lazhar Bouazzi, Carthage, TUN, July 18, 2016. Revision made on July 25, 2016.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC
my future partner,
Hi, I’m anna. I guess we’re co-writing this chapter of our lives together. I’m sure it’ll be epic. It takes a while for me to viscerally latch onto another being, so congrats to you for stealing my heart
because if I’m with you, that probably means I really love you.
I like sushi a lot, empty bookstores, and tea sipping sessions with my cat, xiaoxiao, who you will probably hear me talk about twenty-four seven. I hope you’re a cat person.
Within the realm of the arts, I like to write poetry and play piano. But my secret hobby is photography. It’s the best way to know someone without really knowing them. And if you hurt me, I’ll probably create an entire musical composition or a playlist of poetry about it. But I’ll forgive you instantly.
I might make mistakes, too. For instance, I’m horrible with directions, remembering events, deadlines, or anything unrelated to pedantic learning. My erratic and changeable moods can be quite the predicament as well, but I promise to be as tolerable as I can be through my storms.
I’m a biomedical science major with a minor in neuroscience. Assimilating an array of medical innovations, education, and terminology is, personally, my zenith of academic interest. I have a love and longing to help others. But sometimes, moving towards this ultimate vocation is strenuous and I do hope you understand how much medicine means to me. This means late night MCAT study sessions, mountains of neuroscience books, stacks of terminology notecards, homework, and paramounts of stress.
But I want to work on that. I promise that whatever I love, I love to a seemingly boundless depth- “from the tip of my apex and beyond,” if you’re into medical puns. I promise I’ll take you out to dinner, plan cute dates, and spend as much quality time with you as I can. I promise, we’ll travel to so many places, eat all the food we can in all the countries we visit, dive in every ocean we can find, and fly over every country we can point to on a map.
Most importantly, I promise to give you reasons to continue the chapters in your book. Because I struggle with that too.
Whether it be in a month, a year, a decade, or a lifetime...
I promise to love you, see you soon
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 8:42 AM UTC
Dear Light,
I can't imagine a world without you! It'd be very dark.
You're so Near to the end, and you've been working so hard. You should be more Mello, some would **** for your abilities.
On an unrelated note, have you heard R.E.M. recently? I love them to death! You should try them, even if you don't have an eye for that sort of thing.
I'll love you till the end,
-Misa
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
Random gestures of love
Random gestures of kindness
That light up my day
Like that one time
You said that you loved me
For no particular reason
Unrelated to anything happening
At that moment.
My heart filled with warmth
And a smile found its way
To my pale, usually dull face.
I looked up and said that I loved you as well,
And true happiness bloomed
In my fragile heart
After weeks of drought
After weeks of emptiness.
And my smile was so bright
And I felt so warm
You could have mistaken me
For the sun itself.
And we, sun and moon,
Were the only ones that mattered,
For earth could not affect us.
But then the incident never repeated
And instead of love
I got glares and silence
And your happiness continued
To feed on my own
As your hands continued to take
Every last bit of pleasure
I had to offer.
And as every sun sets,
I sank in the sea
of blue and grey
As I transcended into the mundane routine
Of being lonely when with you
For your arms do not wrap me with warmth
But only
Anger.
The sun and the moon
Live afar.
They complete one another
Yet they do not meet
And when they do
All light drains from the sun
An eclipse.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC
Reaching out for what delivers its existence
The thirsty tree extends its limbs further to the sun
An encounter craved, but still valuing its bestowment
Forever longing anxiously for that connection
The summer winds carrying this hopeful firefly
Emitting the lonely light that calls out for another
Releasing these signals in hopes of discovering you
Again a flicker and finally the mate is matched
Sprinting to the sea, the relentless river runs
Passionately carving its way through the slighted landscape
Obviously enraptured by its desirous charge
Awaiting the second its frenzied rush reaches home
Like the sun now churning our eager energy
Overthrowing senses with this rampantly raging need
Overwhelming magnetism lures us toward temptation
Inescapably mesmerized by this sensation
Profound in nature, driven by this timeless dance
Sophisticatedly conjoining into fulfillment
A base for these unbridled electrical impulses
The quintessence of our fusion now realized
We are the union of two wandering forces
Ignition progresses affectionate meditations
Quietly absorbing the synthesizing of segments
Once unrelated, now entangled eternally
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
Until I turned nineteen,
I never considered where I had been.
I couldn't be seen.
As I have never been on the scene.
Every morrow, I called out to my aunt
To express my love,
and welcome a cup of tea
That is dear to me.
"I hailed to thee,
Aunty, tea."
When she delays a little,
I became a prattle.
A mature lady smiles and places a cup of tea
What a great human is she!
As I had to traverse to another city,
I had to shift to a hostel that had no tea
Not a day did I receive
A mere cup of tea.
Every morrow, every eve,
All I yearn about is only her and I.
Like a mother, the love she showered.
Like a roe,
Neither did I apprehend
Nor did I reciprocate.
Here my mind does thoroughly replicate.
.... TEA....
Every morrow, every eve
I buy tea,
Just by paying the fee
which I used to get for free.
Not lovingly calling Aunty tea
But,
To an unrelated shopkeeper
Asking, 'Bhaiyah Tea'.
Apr 25, 2023
Apr 25, 2023 at 6:25 AM UTC
He puts it out there, the Schrödinger’s cat of invitations.
Now, I’m irritated. “I TOLD you I don’t have time for.. involvement.”
“But you have to eat - so eat with ME,” he shrugs. “You can build a friendship with someone and still have freedom.” His observation was casual, as though it were unrelated to anything between us. He seemed to have the intuition that I’d balk if pressed.
“You’re subversive.” I said. “Why me? There are prettier girls, more agreeable, fun girls. I feel like I’m on the edge here,” I look around to indicate the room, the environment, the university. “And I can be a complete as-hole.”
He looked a little offended, “You’re interesting, I like what I know about you and, yeah, we can all be as-holes - we’re in a pool of “A” types, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“What do you KNOW about me?” I ask.
“I’ve read some of your writings,” he looked thoughtful, “I may know a little about how you think, It’s unusual.. interesting.”
I’m shocked and I squirm, “You looked me up?”
“I looked you up.” he nodded, “to be sure you’re not an axe murderer.”
“How much did you read?” I asked, wheedling, my inner-writer engaging.
“Tell you at dinner - YOU name the date and time,” he smiled.
“My idea of “dinner” is walking to a dining hall, picking up a bag of food, bringing it back here and taking ten minutes to eat it between chapters,” I warned.
“I have a meal card,” he says, jiggling his student lanyard.
“We’ll see.” I said. “Have you talked to anyone else about my writing?”
“No,” he answered, “Why?”
“Please don’t, I have to think about it.” I say. As far as I know, no one I know in RL has read me - it’s an odd feeling - like maybe he got ahold of my diary. I haven’t worried over the fact that someone I’m in physical proximity to could look me up. That all this stuff is actually out there.
“Don’t think my misgivings can be cajoled away,” I say, “no more talking.”
He chucked but we got back to studying.
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 10:21 PM UTC
the names of all the things here
were given post creation
a redaction full of contents unrelated
a conflated epithet
brightly shining atop screaming
gleaming
see me
understand what I'm trying to mean
in my leaning italics
referential and meaningful with research
as I lurch into your interest
ringing
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
High soaring above the Raven glides
What do you see with your eyes?
A bird? A black bird?
What to you hear? A caw? A song?
What if we are in a dome?
The Raven looking down
What does the Raven see?
You? Me?
What colour are we?
The Raven is a paradox
If he sees us and we see him
Both observing that neither of us are black, nor Ravens
Increases our belief that the Raven is black
Unrelated observations under the dome
Supposition, inductive logic, intuition
Illustrate ours and the Raven's deductive logic.
Our logic is the same.
The Raven soars on
We remain.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
The worse thing I could see in this life to me
is the insight on what's going on inside the
mind of another person whose eyes when
tested are wide open yet half closed an
glazed fixed with a message
No rest
**** bested
Just like me with a feeling that's overrated
I'm never waking cause your never sleeping
Yeah that's what we call self medicated
Drug dedicated
To ****** up to hate it
Even when your looking into the eyes of another behind a two way mirror that's not so two way
I'm faceless
A psychopath unlike the rest
So let me color this
Wait did you say something
Whos there
No one It's just you
Then whos looking back
Just yourself
That doesn't look like me
Why because they walk talk and dress different
No because I'm here and their there
A fact created by self absorbed ******** who believe to have made it
A bunch of fakes spitting venomous lies deceit filled eyes
Stabbing the backs of friends and foes alike
believing to be justified with what it is they
do
So don't you even begin to believe that
**** too
Now count to blue and remember there's been to few of us created with two sets of eyes so different yet their look is self imitated
Originality being one oh one over one duplicated known to be unrelated
Something I see each time I see my reflection so you're the worst thing I could see along
with this ****** up connection
Now don't get me wrong it’s amazing how we in no way tried to be found found each other
But I don't know if i’m ready for the inside tour of another just like me but uncovered
A psychopathic lover
And as I begin to laugh I hope like me you won't quit because if your like me we're
made for this wicked ****
I'm ****** glitch
Broke like a *****
Why am I so lyrically rich
That being said I gotta say I'm happy that **** so far has stayed where it belongs tucked away unlike this song
Inside my mind with the imagination creations I've created in my crayola crayon nation made education
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
How many is a few? According to an online forum, it means 2-3 .So here I go
Typhoon hits Taiwan today, so I can’t go anywhere but stay at home all day reading and watching movie (Wild Tales). I think should start reading Swann’s Way again. I was quite interested in Proust in my junior year, cause one time my ex said something I called ‘words of wisdom’ ,which echoed with Proust’s words about sleeping. Maybe they are completely unrelated, but while reading Proust I was unconsciously analyzing the reading in Proust’s way: comparing someone I know in real life with the characters in the book; or maybe I was just putting on airs by showing that I know the (far-fetched) relation between what ******** my ex said and Proust’s words… The wind is getting stronger and stronger now and I am wondering where you are. On this lame typhoon day I’m suffocated by the boredom and humidity. I call it poetic nothingness.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
So promise laden, dormant lain
Neatly wrapped in cellophane
Freshly minted, new release
Pride of place and centrepiece
Glossy pages tempt the eye
Guns and girls in good supply
Grab something that’s quick to eat
Pop the disk and take a seat
A couple of hours hurry past
Scene is set and players cast
Villain always gets away
Hero vows to make him pay
Know what would be just as fun?
Stop chatting him up and USE THE ******* GUN
But no, then they proceed to dine
With another ******* TWENTY MINUTES of unrelated story line
Shooting people, picking locks
Run down corridor, crouch behind box
Hold down R and wiggle stick
Holster weapon, crouch and kick
You know what? I couldn’t care any less
Pause, Quit, Are you sure? Yes
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
I think back on my childhood.
Times that we're still good,
Before they switched it up,
Like, "Now it's time for adulthood."
Spent 18 years behind a desk,
Told to play at break,
Now life feels unrelated, and it feels like a **** waste.
It isn't useless, it just isn't right.
Train me to throw fists,
Then toss me into a knife fight.
What'd you prepare me for?
I still struggle with my taxes,
I got a degree, but it feels like I'm still stuck with all the masses.
After all these years,
It feels like I was taught wrong,
Guided down a path that my heart and soul didn't sit right on.
And every now and then
I start to fight back,
But no one likes it when you start to vary off the track.
They pushback
Like, "No, not that".
But I am not you.
So, **** that!
And I struggle but you can't see it though.
Always talk about me like I'm a lazy bloke,
Say I'm part of the lazy folk,
But your path to happiness,
Is my ******* hell road.
I think back on my childhood.
Times that we're still good...
At least, that's how it felt back then...
Jul 27, 2023
Jul 27, 2023 at 3:05 AM UTC
When life has taught you,
through experience,
that two unrelated things going wrong at the same time,
will beyond a shadow of a doubt,
**** everything up that really matters.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
i am in constant fear of forgetting.
forgetting how i feel,
what i'm thinking,
the directions to your house,
the quadratic formula,
all of it
so i leave myself notes along my way.
inked on my skin,
attached to sticky notes,
sticky-tacked on my wall,
in the paper's margin,
everywhere
but with you,
you're convenient.
tap two buttons at the same time
and our words are embalmed for another day.
just as easy as that.
every once in awhile
i like to refresh myself
by scrolling past each screenshot of us
i began to notice a pattern,
somewhere outside the messaging format
between each picture
were tons more, unrelated.
between us, whatever we are
life has moved on
we've been caught in our little world
while the rest has moved around us
but we have too
i know now
that no matter what happens
i will be okay
because time will move on
and i'll keep taking pictures
of things that aren't us
just like i have been
from the start
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 12:44 AM UTC
Sometimes I would walk through the halls,
feeling nothing but anxiety.
My mind would become flooded:
What should I be doing…
what should I be saying...
what is everyone thinking?
See-
I used to float to the back of the room
to the back of my mind where
I escaped the world by reading.
Nerdy.
A loser. A freak.
I was too intelligent for my age.
It wasn’t COOL to get straight A’s.
Then I advanced to the seventh grade,
with no idea my life was about to change.
I made a friend.
Then Two. Then Three.
A former unknown concept: “popularity”.
Skater shoes, with laces you didn’t tie,
pink backpacks, hair straight as a pin-
Abercrombie-
led me to a moment I still hate today:
“Try some of this”.
It wasn’t COOL if you said no.
It was my first taste of intoxication,
my first taste of escape-
escape of my mind, the thoughts,
The anxiety.
The more I sipped, the more I let go.
The drinks would become stronger,
we raged every other night.
Tolerances were creeping up high,
control started waving goodbye to my mind.
It wasn’t COOL to be sober.
We laughed, we kid-
called ourselves “alcoholics”.
If only then I knew more, and the future I would soon endure
because of the potion we poured and poured.
It wasn’t COOL to be a lightweight.
Some years later I bragged and I boasted,
over the amount of liquor I could intake.
“The only girl who could outdrink the boys”-
the girl, I’d someday unrelated.
She’d fallen for everything society had wanted to create.
“Popularity”.
Then came the day I knew would eventually arrive-
the day of realization and what it meant to be alive.
I no longer wanted to be COOL.
Because with each drink, the value of life was swallowed-
I never have felt
quite that hollow. As if
all the knowledge that once filled my mind
vanished.
I yearned for nothing but to go back to the days,
when I was uncool
and got
straight A’s.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
Stuck in this whirlwind, lungs collapsed.
“Cut the grass, go to college, kid.”
Pick up the slack.
Simplicity doesn't exist in a world of
blue collars, white collars,
greasy politics and misfits.
Be the one percent who picks up the rotten scent,
like a truffle pig striving for a win.
I want a girl to pop my thought bubbles with a safety pin.
“Pitter, patter”,
sounds of summer rain and the innocent.
When you have a dream, follow it,
because it’s hard to chase after something when you've forgotten it’s existence.
I don’t know what to do when I grow up,
I refuse to get stuck, but it’s hard to go anywhere in life
when you associate all of your accomplishments with luck.
People who eat people must be the luckiest people in the world,
because they don’t seem to have to worry about
taxes, religion, homework, or girls.
Worrying makes me puke,
and ironically enough,
I doubt that worrying makes cannibals hurl.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
I love that line
'I'm a prima donna'
christ it's
like a Bonny and Clyde
bank heist
almost
perfect
always suspect,
use that raw ***
get away.
Another Sunday on the sauce.
In the realms.
My kingdom for a council flat,
keep the horse
can't live in that and
Marie Antoinette
will she forget me? not
as yet as if she ever would.
A Hyacinth in Hounslow
down low
avoids the flight paths
like the plague.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC