When I say I miss him, I'm not saying there is something missing with us.
This isn't the scramble for the final piece of the puzzle we're determined to finish on Christmas day,
Every part of you is perfect for me in every single way,
I just miss my friend who I would spend every day, with.

And when I say I still love him, I'm not saying I'm in love with him.
If I was in love with him I probably wouldn't have left him because that would have been an odd thing to do.
I just loved the man and really still do,
In the same way I love my friends and family too.

And when I say I want to see him still, I don't mean every day.
I understand that isn't realistic and would probably take the **** a bit,
But I'd just like to sit, have a coffee,
With the man I use to love.

The coffee is on
It won’t stop simpering
The mugs are jingling
The sugar spoon is glistening
The creamer is singing
Hello, come make your morning Joe
Hurry on now
You’re not paying for this show

god flew through my coffee this morning;
an intellectual crow entered my apartment,
and it guzzled a sip of the holy brew
me? i didn't take notice, just took notes

a blind writer who seeks the extraordinary,
distracted by a strayed quest for himself
left eye red, the right one black, wolfishly
a tribe of suicidals shattered my eye sight

they were dancing in trance
they were singing in kid's voices:

"we forgotten who we are; our skins crumbling
we don't want to live inside your body; no!
we won't be your voice anymore; we be leaving

golemland is our destination, shelter of letters"
then, the tribe of suicidals left, depriving me of words

i found a poem at the bottom of
a cup of coffee
it looked an awful lot like you
and smelled like a promise

but my hands shook so bad
i never wrote it down

Bitter tasting sip
Or a sweet and creamy glaze.
Black cup or cool whip?

i think we should
be allowed to cry
in coffeeshops

or any other place
when, even in public,
we are so overcome

with  f e e l i n g

that it spills over
maybe into our
nighttime coffee

anywhere
we finally feel
quiet, calm, safety

wash over us
briefly,
for no good reason

what's the use in
sitting there, alone
working, reading

drinking things with
stupid names and pretending
we have it all together

i think we should
celebrate overflowing
which is how i've always

really felt about
crying, anyway
it's all so much

just to exist in a world
with everything to experience
in so little time

and it's really
no wonder our delicate
little vessels

can't handle it
all without some
overflow

what's the point
in doing it all and never
letting yourself be full of it

so full that it
spills, runs, drips
from your insides

because there's simply
not enough room for
you to hold it all

i want it all
even if it stings
even when it

really, really, hurts
like deep down in
my bones hurts

and i want the rest
especially when it
feels like my chest

will explode if i
even think of inhaling
another bit of life

i want to cry because
everything hurts so much
even the best parts

i think we should just
let each other be open,
maybe a little too open

what does that
even mean anyway?

i think we should
be allowed to cry
in coffeeshops.

She has a vintage soul,
Full of rusty and dusty memories,
With the antique eyes
That seen some terrible events,
Her beauty reflects
the Victorian epoch,
Her wisdom is such sterling that
Vanquish the wisdom of Socrates,
But the fate and destiny
Leads her in the 21st century,
She feels like an alien
Who lives in a stranger place
But for her comfort in this world,
She has her books and a coffee mug.

–Humaira