Mind fruit

My mind is made of fruit,

Which I think is cute.

If I think about my memories,

They’re very clearly small cherries.

Bloom and wither, going away,

New ones come no matter what I say.

Jokes are clementines, small and sweet,

Taking lots of place, not piled too neat.

Friends are bananas, keeping me alive,

They ensure I cannot but thrive.

When I’m confused all this makes a salad,

As a proper meal, that’s not valid.

If I get stressed, they become juice,

Making me unbalanced like something was loose.

If I get depressed, they become dried,

Still a hint of taste, but most of it’s died.

My mind is fruit if seen like this,

Although I’m sure there’s something amiss.


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