I LOVE POETRY

I see this site Conscience Fiction by Ilva Pieterse through stumble upon and it brings back my fondness on poetry.

I’m not depressed

I am not depressed
I’m just deflated
Out of style and over-dressed
At second-best, I’m overrated


An old birthday balloon
(Out of breath, somewhat bated)
I hum my jingles out of tune
One-hit-wonders soon outdated


Like a song without sound
Mourning a muted meltdown
I’m at the point of no concern
For my inability to yearn


I am -
Whatever comes after
The past, the future
The cries, and the laughter


I remain –
Whatever came before
The purple rain, the midnight train
The virgin and the whore


I am a pixelated painting
Understood by few
Inexplicably containing
Little drops of you


You’re my middle C
A sepia photograph
Of my mundane eulogy
And my previous epitaph


You are my bitter half
The gall in my bladder
My nervous laugh
My endless chatter


You’re my history rewritten
My once shy, twice-bitten
My state-of-the-art
You’re the bottom of my heart


The top of my lungs
You’re my talking in tongues
The motivational quote
In my suicide note


And although I’ll never be free
From this heart on my sleeve
I’ll always wish you to be
The Adam to my Eve.