The pottery's dilema
Priscilla Amao
Here I am again
This is one of those times that I run out of patience
And question my existence
Regret my persistence and consistency
I loathe that I am actually real and not a robot or some sort of idea born from smoke and flame,
A punishment for someone else's misdeed,
A veil faded away so quickly to reveal their shame
As hard as terrace, a fine potter's work
Oven dried, baked
All my color pales and my ribs ache
I wonder what the potter is about to make from waste, clay.
I hope some day, I will not crumble and break
Heat spreads through my whole frame
Again, I wish that I were from flame
Then this whole feeling will be same and
It wouldn't feel like I'm going insane
I feel a blockage in my brain
I'm not depressed, no
That's not my plight
You can't get it without a deep insight
I have no one to impress,
There's no feelings to express
I know my human rights but can't seek redress
Who am I to sue for life being so cruel?
They say life is good but I don't feel like it
There's no flame to fuel
The past is ruined, not a good place to dwell
I hope that in the future,
I could say all is well.
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Posted Jul 21, 2025
A reflective piece questioning existence and emotions.
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