Lost in a sea of bodies
they all just drown me out
I feel the current of their disinterest
not giving up, pulling me down
the glitter on my face, it must’ve lost its shine
I’m still writing this story
that has stood the test of time
a glimpse in my direction has become something so rare
at the hottest spot in town and it’s as if nobody’s there
it’s a pain so practiced it shouldn’t be phasing
but with every final hope I’m bleeding from old grazing
I’ve been treading water and treading for too long
my ignorance was bliss and now my ignorance has gone
so I’ll stop the frantic swimming, polished acting and smile winning
feel my body just give in
feel the current start to win
wave goodbye to the surface that was never really mine
only to return should someone crave that glitter shine
Bassoon's over eagerness often
made it's social awkwardness
more awareable
aloofness or disinterest, often
lacking eye contact
fidgeting, or over-monitoring
their own behavior the cantars
mindfulness to stay present
approaches designed to make
interactions feel more comfortable
and natural.
Being the "fifth wheel in your own relationship"
typically means feeling like an unnecessary,
third-party addition rather than an equal partner
This often happens due to a power imbalance,
emotional disconnect, or when an outside third
party seeking or a power play
. When somesong or some songs
deliberately puts themselves
in appealing or high-attention environments
to manipulate others into thinking
they are highly desired.
Let me ask you—
do you love me?
For I love you.
But that is not the question.
When things upset me
I cannot express it.
I sit back in anger
and then transgress.
The things you do,
you do repeatedly,
sometimes acting
as if I do not exist.
Leaving me behind,
my mind lost in a mist—
a mist of clouds
floating without direction.
The feeling of disinterest
is deeply noted,
the loneliness lingering
throughout the day.
Until it’s time for bed—
still nothing to say.
You have your friends,
and I have mine too,
but you and I both know
they should not come before you.
Yet I feel less important
when it comes to them,
leaving me confused
and frustrated again.
Everything you do
seems done on a whim.
You treat them like family,
but not the same with me.
Listen here, my guy—
I carry your last name.
Touch me, pinch me,
let me know I’m there.
Stop ignoring me,
tossing me aside
as if you do not care.
An imagist glimpse of metamodern beauty
Her swagger sweeps the street.
Men pretend not to see—
yet their eyes beg the bouquet in her hand,
a wish disguised as disinterest.
She aligns with the lamppost,
the background tilts to her hue,
as if the lamp and pavement
had robbed the sun of its yellow—
and still,
her beauty hovers beyond this world.
never loved cat ways
their tail-flicking arrogance
their unasked-for gaze
my family longed for one —
I yielded, keeping distance
stray kitten arrived
they all fawned gushed over it
but the cat chose me
the least interested one
who shooed and shoved it away
smitten by kitten
my heart disinterested
lurched to beat retreat
we're inseparable now
the kitten has claimed my lap
What a cop out, for one
who always sleeps on their right side
To admit to ignoring the context,
the background and milieu,
which colors your decisions and choices,
and side you lean towards.
There is nothing implicit in bias ingrained,
and the norms and context,
in which you were born, learned and grew up,
that allow you to claim you're
asleep at the wheel, dozing lazily in blissful ignorance.
How can that possibly excuse you
from not learning about the other side,
not discovering how others may see, feel and think,
given their different background and pathway through life.
To claim you're unconscious when you decide, and bleat forth
is a conflict of interest,
with implicit, explicit, disinterest on show,
for all to see.
It's a cop out,
an excuse to be biased
irresponsibly.
Wake Up!
As the business's closure loomed in the distance,
Anxiety gripped me tightly, a relentless insistence.
Late-night thoughts birthed migraines, a sleepless affair,
The shop had been more than a store; it was friendships we'd share.
Evenings converged, weekends embraced at the store's cozy nook,
I couldn't fathom it all disappearing with a single closing book.
But for a moment, a glimmer of hope did appear,
In a friend, not just any, but a love sincere.
She'd been the beacon, the reason I'd smile,
I believed she'd support me through any trial.
A shoulder to lean on, a hand to wipe tears,
Oh, how mistaken I was, as my heart faced its fears.
The calls turned silent, like a fading star's light,
Texts arrived tardily, replies devoid of their usual might.
Answers grew brief, disinterest reared its head,
My heart ached profoundly, but faith I still spread.
our quintessential cool cat mushroom was a beatnik rare
he danced with a wiggly butt, his shoulders in the air
there was rhythm in his walk, he acted like he did not care
blatant disinterest in the cool cat mushroom named McDare
He had a sneaky tongue,
it bent around his molars
like a serpentine noodle.
His Adams apple
was an ever-shifting abacus
that calculated words
as if they were untethered beads.
Mathematics were his
clinical persuasion,
a laudable science
he hammered
into a sterile
impregnable language
for bespectacled cyborgs,
for he (the Bradly),
daily taught snotty tykes
who ponged of sticky,
childish proclivities.
Some teach, some
kill the ozone of eager minds.
We kids and Mr. Bradly
were never meant
for each other,
but he did instruct us
in the oily arts of
disinterest,
indifference,
and inattention.
Those days were like rows of paper dolls
Before the lovely whisper of passion
In charmed, heavenly color schemes
releasing my disinterest from me.
Your allure under lovely lodging eyes
If I flee, I might be gone forever
The moon heard falling echoes
A romantic poetry downpour
I'm floating on your waves
carry me to the beach.
Anxiety increases as Christmas draws near
Kids may not get what they asked for, they fear,
It’s presents holding them rapt, not good cheer
Santa shows disinterest, he has another beer
‘Tis Mrs. Claus stretching the budget this year.
Written December 11, 2022
The powers,
the powers 'that be'
wish to thank you
for your on-going servitude,
for your compliance,
conformity,
acquiescence,
gullibility,
subservience,
apathy,
disinterest,
inattention,
and your willful or blind ignorance.
We gratefully accept
your abject submission
as we strive to eradicate
all opposition
and discussion.
You are the very best of sheep,
the most loyal of lambs.
We applaud your
naiveté and lack of interest
in our secretive regime.
We keep your secrets
so you do not have to.
May you continue to serve us
as we
subject,
bamboozle,
hornswoggle,
flimflam,
demonize,
pander,
patronize,
denigrate,
dismiss,
disrespect,
defame.
derogate,
discount,
dishonor,
disparage,
vilify,
slander,
mislead,
misuse,
misdirect,
misinform,
malign,
smear,
conceal,
cover-up
and deceive you all.
Perusing some recently mindless & unlabeled
shelfed works (my recently ancient poems),
benumbed fingers pluck jumbled words;
musings that had much meaning once
but now seem more like
the random scattering of monkey turds.
A thousand keyboards are buried in my brains landfill,
and here come the plucky and ribald seagulls
to peck at the words still wriggling through
unplugged motherboards.
Still and all, there may be a line or two
that have escaped the ravishes
of times disinterest and ennui,
there may be a poem here - somewhere,
its small, quivering spirit still hopefully squeaking:
"pick me, pick me!"
It is horrifyingly apparent,
that this new Rome will fall soon.
The wolves are roaming,
seeking for any weakness,
and we are weakened
by our own lack of alarm.
Some spoke out,
some told of a degenerate culture,
of corruption and disinterest.
Some armed themselves,
but a house divided upon itself
cannot stand for long.
This Republic will disintegrate;
be scattered by ill-winds,
as were all republics before it.
Then we will see at last
the worm in the apple
was none other than us.
Some pondered ways
to pep-up the pulpit and pew,
but disinterest and ennui won the day.
The clergy went away to get help
and never came back.
Eventually, thunder and sleet
cracked stone, spire, and gable;
neglect, and the cold winds of time
nibbled at arch and buttress.
Where once was a stained-glass light,
weeds and mildew weathered to a moldy rot.
Where once the hems of cassocks swept
now mice and spiders rest or nest,
and baby bats roost in the rectory.
There In a dusty belfry
owls hoot and solemnly perch.
Walls crumbling to niche and cranny.
Amid all this spacy ruin
jackdaws lay their speckled eggs,
while in the misty moonlight
homeless angels fan dance
upon feather-light, slinky legs.
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