With the arrival of sweater weather, I’ve been drinking gallons of tea. Not that this is particularly unusual for me, of course. But with the summer months behind us, it seems to be more acceptable to reveal. And, after unearthing a poem about my favorite beverage, I decided I wanted to post it!

Now, when I had to submit this piece for creative writing last year, my classmates just stared at me with blank expressions because they had no idea what it was about. I floundered and said I didn’t know either. Probably one of the most awkward moments of my life (though I’m sure there will be others). After class, it occurred to me (hit me like a ton of bricks, in fact) that the main theme was perfectionism. Sure, it might be more convoluted than I had intended. But in an effort to appreciate my writing and encourage more confidence in myself, here I am on the blog again, oversharing. Hope you enjoy 🙂

Morning Tea

a mugful of tea curls
and steams, a natural geyser
lingers on my tongue, silent, raindrops
of heat, flurries which melt and trickle down my throat
and steep my blood, my veins, in ardor
for a single second, my insides grow
round with quiet warmth and—

i squeeze until the tips of my fingers retreat
burnt and swollen and throbbing, the cup shatters

into a broken image of a rose while my refracted frown
stares back at me and screams, chokes, and curdles
at the indent, the chipped tooth, the scraggly groove
which stains the mug and dims the fire in my eyes
labeled as forever blemished, eternally spoiled.