The early hours of the morning
Are a floor stained with Coffee
And fifty cents in change.
The sky is still dark,
And people are still whiping
Sleep from their eyes.
I’m going to miss her.
I’m going to miss her.
I thought therapy Thursdays
Would never end.
But no more tea in colorful mugs,
No more tears to match mine,
No more meditation together,
No more coming in
Just as you finish your coffee break.
For five years
I wasn’t alone.
For five years
I told myself to just breathe
Until Thursday.
Now it’s ending,
And it’s a Tuesday.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 6:39 AM UTC
The early hours of the morning
Are a floor stained with Coffee
And fifty cents in change.
The sky is still dark,
And people are still whiping
Sleep from their eyes.
I’m going to miss her.
I’m going to miss her.
I thought therapy Thursdays
Would never end.
But no more tea in colorful mugs,
No more tears to match mine,
No more meditation together,
No more coming in
Just as you finish your coffee break.
For five years
I wasn’t alone.
For five years
I told myself to just breathe
Until Thursday.
Now it’s ending,
And it’s a Tuesday.
Request permission to use this poem