It Could Be Poetry
I’m thinking I should see a doctor,
‘Cos my stomach’s playing tricks on me
Every time I think about you.
Churning and burning inside
Even if I haven’t eaten all day.
Sure, it could be love,
But it might be some disease, too.
One of those that you know is bad
Because it ends in -itis or sumthin’.
I’m thinking I should stop writing,
‘Cos it only confirms my sickness
And puts it in writing for everyone to see.
Eating and beating me up,
Even though I’ve got nothing left.
Sure, it could be genius,
But it might be some rambling, too.
One of those that you know is bad
Because it makes you confused.
I’m thinking I should stop thinking,
‘Cos my mind’s playing games with me
Every time I let it go free.
Spewing and chewing thoughts
Even when I’m not thinking.
Sure, it could be normal,
But it might be some strange idiosyncrasy.
One of those you know is bad
Because it’s coming from me.
© neda hakimi
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