One of my favorites!

Poetry by Ilva Pieterse

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One-hit-wonders soon outdated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.

I am, who I am.

What better way to start a blog than with a poem? To start I’m taking a poetry class where we are required to write at least one poem a week; last week I wrote this one about how I have PHN and found inspiration from that as well as poet, Barbra Hamby. All in all writing has become a way to help me keep sanity from PHN, I’ll be explaining that later.

Inspirations of Barbra Hamby and PHN

With verses like hearses

bringing me down

I just want to SCREAM!

What else do I say?

That the world is full of candy,

Sugar covered fluffy pillows?

Wrong.

Fluffy pillows, maybe covered in spikes

and you’re lucky to find someone

with gloves to cover your hands

from getting pricked by the painful…

Words like needles in your skull

what’s the difference?

Of these words and needles, spikes,

all pointing at you like daggers

into your heart stabbing you softly

until you rest your head at night.

Into your dreams you go

and you know that could be life,

where you rest your head,

but mostly people think it’s where you walk

Feet on pavement equals real

and it can’t be anything other than that

or can it?