Attachment In The Age Of Algorithms Poem by Stevens Cadet

I feel disconnected from the value
You projected onto me
One that doesn't align with what I receive
It appears, I cannot speak freely
Unless I tiptoe across the eggshells
Scattered on the path to your seat.

You sit there, wrestling your own conflict,
Loving my gift of observation
Until that mirror turns back on you.

I hold no judgment.
But the hurt was harder to elude
When I led with oneness and care.

Yet when I text, "Good morning, "
You choose silence,
Only to scroll through my post
As if digital crumbs were more digestible than real connection.

Is this how we've grown
In a world gone digital?
We've all become transactional,
Programmed to be avoidant,
Where communication lies dormant.

As we search for solid foundations,
With blocks and chains of all we ascertain—
Hoping they're enough to help us sustain
A mind state that reflects what we crave.

Where is the ground that does not cave
Beneath our feet
When we meet someone
Who appears to be in symmetry?

In this assembly where so many feel defeat,
Was division the goal—
Crafted by algorithms tuned for engagement,
In service of profit we'll never perceive?

I find myself in the company
Of thoughts left unsaid—
Meant to be heard among the flock,
With no attachment to where they may lead, only guided by thee
Alpha and Omega's decree.

Fasting for clarity,
Guarding my soul from temptation.
For the worth of a soul is non-negotiable.

These ties we bind
Feel dangerously breakable—
When they depend on our capacity to reciprocate.

The illusion of options
Turns love into a tug-of-war,
Where effort is given,
Then withdrawn
At the first sign of alarm.

Have we become
A generation of avoidant attachment?

Is this the task I've been given—
To name the ways we mask it?
To ask:

Who is triggered
When the mirror turns?
Who becomes the villain
In someone else's love story?

I hope one day,
There is no hole
At the bottom of the cup I pour into—
One I cannot see
Until too late,
When nothing I give can ever accumulate.

It all just drains, unseen, below—
Spilled at the lips of someone who
Doubts my truth
Or walks a different road
Than where I'm standing now