You pour the sweetest--sugar
In my pure precious little bottle,
You asked me if, "Can I pour these precious bottle of yours?"
And I said yes.
Everytime I saw that little bottle of mine,
I feel pleasure.
I feel excite.
One day,
Drought came.
The sugar inside the bottle and
started to m
                       e
                          l
                            t.

And­  saw you pouring your precious sugar,
Again to your chum.

It was 9 a.m. and already 95 degrees.
I wished for a pool of ice but
instead I swam in a shirt drenched with sweat.
This was my first summer here.

At 10 a.m. I realized this drought,
this cracking, dry, unwarrantable heat,
might burn away the doorway hiding
away any signs of forgiveness.

11 a.m. lulled by,
heart beating dizzily in sync with the
fan spraying my skin with sickly sweet stale air,
habitually smothering my body’s hasty pulse.

At noon
I knew I couldn’t linger any longer.
Detrimental integrity leading a rope to
the next state over.

One o’clock came and
for just a second, there was fresh air,
or so I thought. Maybe You are what
made up that canopy’s cover.

I couldn’t wait until two, there’s always
some reason to stay.  Time to make due
and evaporate like sugar dissolving in the cracks
of the asphalt burning our toes.

We celebrated on a ship abroad in a coffee shop.
We took our order to go, the view of the street clear.
The people smiled and adored their conversation.
A debate of what to try.
What to order.
This delicious smell.
Brewed dark, served light.
Foam covered lips.
A slited cap to release steam.
And here we are merely afloat.
We blend into the flavor.
I don't think I'll find a place as great.
An iceberg has sunken our ship.
Stirred around until all has dissolved.
This sailboat of ours coming to an end.
Crashing against our lips.
Directly against our tastebuds.
With us the remains of sweet rummage and cream

when i was a child and went out during the rain,
my father would tell me
"you ain't sugar, child.
                                         who said you gon' melt?"
so i stopped dipping my toes in pool water
          and started jumping off bridges.
sometimes i would swim in fountains,
looking for kindness, but

i guess people eventually realized
      their cash wasn't worth their buck.
that no god in the sky was gonna give
             you somethin' good for five cents.

so lemme tell you, sugar. you wanna know
           the look the bank gave me when
i asked for my paycheck in dimes?
           that "you gotta be kidding me" look,
           that "wait.. you're serious?" look.
disbelief like no other.

           that same look i give you
when you step foot in the rain,
and i say "hey, careful now.
                 sugar likes to melt in this weather."

I am a city girl;
By blood and by birth.
The city is my place.
So many people!
So many buildings!
It's noisy, it's busy,
and that's why I like it.
But why, then,
Are people who live in cities
So much sadder than the rest?

Or so I've heard.
Cities may get gray.
Too loud.
Too bright.
Under the weather.
So I've heard, that
City people
Are
Sad people.

Cities are bittersweet.
All I ever wanted was
To add a
Little bit
Of
Sugar.

I guess that's what I'll have to do.
I just want everyone to be happy...

I feel my pulse quicken
as the caramel crap thickens
and all my unhealthy chickens
come back to roost
from the sugary boost
of process foods
that I once used
to ease my pain.

Feathered motivations coated
                  within every layer of
     her distorted refection.

No one will taste the flavours of  
              her contorted thoughts,
everyone coated in delusions...