magicpotatosworld

Latest Posts by magicpotatosworld

I just got shot

Miller, M. (2011). The Song of Achilles. (p. 298). Great Britain: Bloomsbury Publishing.

Do you know how fucked up your team has to be for Bucky Barnes to be the most stable member

Journey From Cradle to Grave

The dark shadow of death

Follows me through the night.

Three and a half steps behind,

My footsteps echo his

Hurried and stumbling.

His eyes mirror mine

Frightened and wet,

Seeking anything familiar in the darkness.

His hands are bound,

Guns, ropes and drugs

Strapped across him.

Weapons, heartbreak, disease.

Which one will be my end?

they cover his mouth,

muffle his words.

He tries in vain to breath life and warmth

To his blue and numb fingers,

Though his breath is colder

Than the air submerging us.

The journey is long and cold,

I'm not sure where it ends.

I look back and wonder:

Is he following me

Or am I following him?

The Echos of Life

Wherever there are humans,

There is death and destruction.

Wherever there are humans,

There is hate and oppression.

Wherever there are humans,

There is art and music.

Wherever there are humans,

There is love and care.

A mother holding her stillborn child,

Be it in a hospital bed, a mud hut or a cave.

A father helplessly watching his son march to the same war he once fought.

A symphony of hope,

Rising above a ruined city.

The feeling of despair and fear is the same.

Two lovers tangled up in love and devotion.

Looking into the eyes of your love

Promising them love through it all.

Wherever there are humans

Love finds it way

Whether through despair or joy

Is not for us to choose.

You are not the first person to feel this,

And you won’t be the last.

So take solace in your ancestors,

Know that your lineage is long and proud.

Others before you have made it through,

And so will you.

The first fall of snow

Today was the first fall of snow where I live. It’s time like this when I miss home the most, Christmas and winter time. I miss going out in the backyard covered in gloves and winter boots that never quite fit. I miss coming inside to the smell of my mom’s home cooked dinner with rosy cold cheeks and a sniffling nose. I miss my mom’s hugs, big arms wrap around my tiny body, covered in warm love from head to toe, I miss her hot chocolate that warmed my hands and burned my tongue.

I miss my home town, a home I never truly got to know, it’s feels foreign hearing my parents talking about the street names and corner shops, places I feel so close to but yet so far… I miss Copenhagen in Christmas time, I miss the Danish Christmas music playing in stores, I miss the feeling of my dads rough hands pulling my hat down over my eyebrows. I miss the winter markets and the smell of Copenhagen when it snows, like wet asphalt and crispy almonds.

I miss my childhood home and I miss the time when my parents were the best people in the world, I miss the time when my dad seemed to have all the answers. I miss the kid I was and I long to feel the safety of a home.

Lost childhood <3

The Scars On Our Hearts

My heart aches

Black sticky tar dripping

Onto my lungs, stomach, liver.

Engulfing me in darkness and clinging to my chest.

Dark syrup block the path From body to brain.

My blood mixes with it, A murky brown colour.

Shadows fill every inch of my body.

Depression runs through my veins

In and out

My heart pumps it around Not aware the difference

Between good and bad blood.

Doing its job as it should - My brain, unaware and indifferent, won't stop it.

Is it better to suffer

or to fill my throath with tar and dust?

The Rope of Accountability

The rope lays heavily on my shoulders,

Snugly around my neck.

Like a scratchy jewel.

I hear it whisper,

“I’m the end, it’s me and you”

It weighs me down,

With an unsure promise

Laying thickly on my shoulders.

The reminder that one day, it will be used.

It ignites fear,

It ignites what I already know.

“In the end, I will be the one to hold you accountable”

Fear and Womanhood

Woman

Says my mom.

Woman

says the man at the lake.

Woman.

I roll the word around on my tongue

Until I taste it,

I write it with my blood

on the bathroom floor,

Woman woman woman.

I write it on my own face

With the strange man’s finger

Is this what it means to be a woman?

Following Death

The dark shadow of death

Follows me through the night.

Three and a half steps behind,

My footsteps echo his,

Hurried and stumbling.

His eyes mirror mine

Frightened and wet,

Seeking anything familiar in the darkness.

His hands are bound,

Guns, ropes and drugs

Strapped across him

Weapons, heartbreak, disease.

He tries in vain to breath life and warmth

To his blue and numb fingers,

Though his breath is colder

Than the air submerging us.

I look back and wonder:

Is he following me

Or am I following him?

Beautiful baby boy born from blood

Send him to the bombing

Dress him in blood and gun powder

“Yes sir” will be his first words.

“Charge” will be his last

Beautiful baby boy with bad backup

Send him home in a box

Closed casket to calm candidates

A moms tears

Still dressed in hospital gown

With blood dripping on the floor