You never wanted tea.
You don’t even like tea—
It lingers on your lips,
the scalding fear of it burning,
it twists its way inside,
leaving a sickly warmth in its wake.

You prefer cold tea,
sharp and distant,
they tell you it lacks flavor,
warmth is the point—
the richness, the indulgence.
warm tea churns your stomach,
fills it with a heat you never asked for.

You drank his tea
Only a few sips
To prove you could like it,
You had to prove it to him,
You always hated the feeling.

He respected you for a while,
Stayed content with your cold tea,
you knew he was just trying to like the taste.
He was doing what you did,
Trying to stomach the poison.

He poured his tea on you,
let it spill into your clothes,
seeping in with unwanted warmth.
The stains would never wash out
clinging to your skin it left you ill,

You never wanted tea.
Not from him.
Not at all.