Sad Boy Capuccino
coming right up.
A special blend
of angostura bitters
sprinkled over dark roasted beans,
served in two cups
but sipped independently.
The drink has notes of long walks
with silent mode on.
It tastes of scalding hot tea.
It feels like the rain you weren't expecting
but welcome in your sunsets.
It's the necessary contrast
to the uplighting hues
that unfold
at the end of the day.
Yet sometimes I find myself
deranged
in the confinement of my own home.
A coffin I've been building
to stow away my mind.
It's been ten years since I've last meditated.
I still have nightmares of it.
A room that made me wonder
if there ever was an entrance.
A room I entered hoping
I could get answers to
the ghosts, the double texts,
the excuses and the explanations
within the archives of my phone.
A room with huge, pacific
southwest windows
that read
"Thank you for the hard work"
yet refusing to open
after looking into my eyes.
They're terrified my pupils
will turn into more than just black mirrors.
They're too afraid they'll see raw
contradictions to their name.
In lieu of introspection
we talk to and of others.
We're terrified of reflections,
for god forbid we have more than a mind.
We are so much, and that's overwhelming.
We're not perfect, and that's disappointing.
Thinking it's for the best
we move on
and muffle
our endeavors and lovers.
We relish in monotonic,
synthetic notes we can play
with the chords we already know.
Morally grey
feels cruelly dark
yet conveniently light.
My brother, my mother, and my sister.
I took them all for granted.
There was always comfort after the friction.
Regardless,
I could always land in their arms, voices and care.
Now I need time to create limbs of my own,
chants that uplift me when I feel alone
for no one will save me in this
vast and plain plateau in what was once
the sacred grounds of my individual,
brittle
self image.
Coffee and time are the formula
that grounds me to sturdy sand.
I make lines in it that shall never shift
if only by the passage of time.
Maybe then I won't need the milk
in my capuccino.
Maybe then I'll have it black
and say
I've grown up.
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