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Words and Perspectives

Fickle

How fickle my mind must be,
to laugh and think that everything will be alright,
only seconds after wishing it would all end.

– Priscillamf (10.02.18)

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To this.

Birds sit on tree tops
And I sit on roof tops
What an awful comparison
I want to sit on table tops
Dissection blocks
Let me be your lab experiment
A healthy contestant
Food for thought
More food than I ought
Not a strong asset
Never enough assets
Never enough full stop
Full stop
I want to be put to a full stop
Put an end to all the clocks
My clock
Put an end to everything
To this.

– Priscillamf (07.06.17)

the poetry I want to.

I wish I wrote poetry the way I want to,
and I know it seems like nothing’s stopping me,
but I’m short on ability.
Short on hope and desire,
something like a deep want, but no energy to achieve it,
too much fear to try harder than the bare minimum,
and the constant question of
“Why aren’t I going anywhere with my poetry?”
not asked by anyone, just asked by myself.
And I write poetry to put these thoughts into action,
to push start my ambition
but all there is, is gas but no engine,
butter, but no bread.
Words in my head, but no paper,
and once there’s paper, the words are limited,
and all that runs through my mind is
“This isn’t what I wanted.
I don’t want to say that.
Those arent the words I chose.”
I guess in the end,
I still can’t write the poetry I want to.

– Priscillamf (04.02.18)

(Punctuation in poetry hurts me sometimes)

close

Not close in proximity,
just close in hearts.
Not close at all,
just close in my head.

– Priscillamf (18.12.17)

(I feel like repetition is my best friend. Also, please feel free to suggest topics to write about, I hopefully want to try something new)

I think

I think,
I think too much
How sad
How frail
What a fragile little mind
A monster at work
Another sleepless night
Stay strong
Grow weak
You can do anything
But why did you do that
Keep thinking
No, sleep
But are you even tired?
Feed me
Fuel me
Fix this broken machinery
You’re beautiful
But my god I fucking hate you
Why are you here?
Go
Please stay
Sleep

– Priscillamf (19.05.17)

(Something from last year that I didn’t even realise I had written, and forgotten about…)

Not a poet

Not a poet,
just someone who writes poetry, I think.
Just someone who writes

– Priscillamf (9.01.18)

(‘Someone who writes,’ broad in all its senses, but an apt phrase nonetheless, I like it.)

Fragmentary Light

Fragmentary light,
and only a fraction of you is real.
Only a fraction of you exists,
and I’ve made up the rest.
Made up this story,
about you,
about me,
and how we exist together in union.
I’ve made up this story,
and stuck it in all your blank parts,
in all your blank stares
and lack of acknowledgement.
I’ve made up this story,
and stuck it between your broken cracks,
a sealant for your existential void.
Only a fraction of you is real,
but I only know what isn’t.

– Priscillamf (27.09.17)
(life is weird, it always is)

Your colourĀ 

Envy was never your colour,
But you wore green so well

– Priscillamf (21.10.17)

Cold Jacket

You are the cold to my warm jacket
But that doesn’t makes sense
And neither does our love

 
– Priscillamf (16.10.17)
(It’s been a while. Something short and sweet, well short anyway)

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