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Words and Perspectives

Apologetic words

I wonder what runs through your mind
as apologetic words leave your mouth,
yet no sincerity is attached to them

– Priscillamf (24.06.17)

Fragile

What a fragile mind you have,
that when words are spoken,
all sensibility is lost, and
you are left with pieces broken.
– Priscillamf (22.06.17)

Blue

Blue,
not melancholic,
just blue,
a hue.
A colour to sum up my emotions,
the sky that suffocates me,
the water I drown in.

Not suicidal,
just blue.
Blue like the messages you send me,
used to.
And blue like the colour of you lips,
in winter, the bluest season,
a hue.

Not depressed,
just blue.
A colour to represent how I feel.
Blue is the glove that once held your hand,
and lost warmth.
Blue is the colour that consumes me now that you are not here.

Not lonely,
but blue,
a hue,
when you no longer care for me.

– Priscillamf (18.06.17)

Note (1)

Bad poetry is still poetry, and you should still write.

– Priscillamf (18.06.17)
(A reminder to myself, and a word of encouragement. Not every poem will be great, but consider it a step towards improving. Don’t stop until your writing is what/where you want it to be). (Also very applicable to most things in life). 

Untitled

At 10pm I open the gate to
cries that were delayed by an obligation
to society, to
a secret I share with my bed sheets.
By 10:30 I am squeezing out what’s left of my tears, filled with
an understanding that this won’t get me anywhere, but
an urge to keep it up,
to stay sad.
An hour later, I have run through all my emotions,
overanalysed everything to the point where
I no longer care.
Only now can I breathe,
ignite a fake sense of euphoria, and
go on with my life as though
nothing happened.

– Priscillamf (17.06.17)

(Untitled because I have lost a lot of creativity & need to generate some more)

Why the grass is blue and the sky is green

In my mind I have inverted the images;
misconstrued words and notions,
love and potions.
To me you are all stability,
all that is right.
To me you are everything
that is in my sight.
On the blue grass I sit and watch
as the green sky dims almost to black,
and I think that maybe this is all there is,
maybe this is all I need.
On the blue grass where I can breathe,
next to you where I feel my fullest,
after having consumed the stars in the green sky,
I think, maybe this is all there is.
Maybe this is all that I need;
my misconstrued perception of the world,
and a place to stay beside you.

– Priscillamf (24.05.17)

Odds

You ask me to hold your drunken breathe,
but who are you to tell me what to do.
Hold your unstable body in a sturdy frame, as I guide you home.
I let you slur words in my ear,
something like “I think I might love you.”
Please insert eye roll where appropriate.
It’s unfortunate, but I don’t accept drunk confessions.
I wish you’d sober up and tell me something definite,
something I could hold on to for future reference.
Tell me what my chances are.
Don’t leave me waiting after sloppy confessions and mumbled kisses,
for you to wake up, memory intact,
in the hopes that you’ll tell me something real for once.

– Priscillamf (22.05.17)

(I said I would post more, but I posted less. This poem is wary or rather I am, about this poem.)

and I remain imprisoned by your fear.

Wrapped within your embrace, safety is your only concern
“Not yet, not yet.
You are neither ready, nor do I want to let you go.”
With hands holding me down, I fail to fly,

– Priscillamf (30.03.17)

To the light.

Not human, I cocoon,
Suffocate in darkness.
Behind closed doors, I
Build wings to escape

– Priscillamf (16.03.17)

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