Being away from home makes me able to do anything I want without my parents having a panic.
I mean they don’t know that every morning I have my cup of coffee despite being told I’m acidic.
Or that at least every week I go try different coffee shops and order an espresso with less milk.
Really? Am I a coffee addict?
Who can say no to the aroma soothing your nostrils and leave you
There in your table sits your very own cup, waiting
to be kissed from its very seductive rim, parting
your thrilled lips, burning
your yearning tongue, providing
your soul the bittersweet taste of the coffee you love
And as you sip that blessed liquid
Like lightning it electrifies you over your taste buds
to your throat
to your chest then back up switching on every nerve in your brain.
You bathe in that wonderful kick of caffeine.
And you just can’t help but close your eyes and enjoy this hot bath from a long cold rainy day.
Listening to the every chemical reaction
feeling that sublime sensation
now creeping into every part of your body
that you are no longer your own property.
Then you suddenly get reminded of the last time you had your coffee. The abnormal beating of your heart
the fireworks in your head
the ringing in your ears
the whispers of voices from your back
thezjdflksjcxkdjfghdisquiet of the night and
how it left you gasping for breath
drowning in the sea of your tears of regret.
But being scared makes you hear your present heartbeat, slowly, rushing
like it’s 8 in the morning
It’s beating. You survived.
You savor this forbidden sensation for as long as it lasts.
But nothing lasts forever.
When it starts to wear off, of course,
it all comes back to the tongue.
Here comes “The Finish”.
Funny how acidity
is the strong point of coffee
but a weak point of you.
Cold sweat runs through your back
and a sharp burning feeling starts in your stomach.
Your tongue touching the ceiling of your mouth
is now starting to burn an unpleasant, undesirable sharpness,
The bittersweet becomes just the bitter.
You open your mouth like puffing out cigarette smoke
breathe out deeply and slowly
your tongue searching every corner of your mouth
trace the lining of your gums
for that elusive sweetness
that once filled you with happiness.
In despair you’re left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste.
Like a whistle of the kettle that tells you the water is boiling
The reminder that you had coffee.
For a moment you want to cry—why can’t you just cry—but if they tell you not to cry over spilled coffee then
more reasons they’ll tell you not to cry from drinking coffee
Because who cries over coffee and why would you cry from drinking coffee?
You ask yourself
left with two answers:
You’d cry because it’s bad,
or you’d cry because you once had something so good.
See even the most natural task on Earth like drinking coffee gives difficult life choices, too.
But before you lose your mind thinking about
the aftertaste, the bitter,
You feel the cup between your hands
warm and welcoming.
A faint light from this darkness
has started to devour the blackness.
And you open your eyes.
You no longer hear the whistle of the kettle nor the rushed beat of your heart.
Even the bitter taste in your tongue felt like it’s been there right from the start
And you just no longer care of the aftertaste that takes ages to depart.
You look at your cup with your loving doe eyes.
You’re ready to take in another sip of your coffee
not minding the aftertaste of that same unrequited love.
This was originally performed as a spoken poetry, my first in that field.