our love was endowed
with countless stolen moments
and endless uncertainty,
yet you were the only thing
that i was sure of.
i wonder if the taste
of apples and cinnamon
takes you back to tender nights
underneath bedsheets,
in the same painful way
that strawberry soaked kisses
and honey covered fingertips
will always bring me
back to y o u.

I love mouthing off to you;
                            I can taste you,
                            allow me to tip you,
                            as I lick you,
                            you drip too,
                            and leak through,
                            like thick drool,
                            one drop at a time,
                            I feel you.

Liquor bottles and rapt promises
All sometimes mean the same thing for me
At first glance, they seem a little bit too much
To be handled by a mere, innocent minor like me

They say I'm too young to take or drink them
They say only adults can get a taste of them
But of course, I let my curiosity get the best of me
And here I am, sneaking some from the shelf.

Bitter. I unconsciously rejected it
For it was too bitter for me to handle
Manifesto too new, flavour too foul
Sensation incomprehensible, what's yet to come?

I finished half. Half of the bottle.
Internalized half of the emotions thrown
Embedded in between those highfalutin speeches
And I'm only waiting for what's next.

Warmth. It's warm, it's creeping in
Am I letting myself be thawed by their voice?
Or maybe it's just the liquid speaking
As it glides down from my mouth to my throat?

Euphoria. I feel nice. For the first time.
Taking more gulps doesn't feel a bit wrong.
Being succumbed to their words doesn't feel wrong.
It only feels all the more alright.

Tepid. Loaded. Giddy. Fine.
All these are happening all at once
I've been searching for this feeling all my life
WHY HAVE I NOT KNOWN BEFOREHAND!?

I only bought a bottle to try
Only sought a promise to swallow
Is one not enough for my troubled soul?
Is this how much I craved to feel fine?

No matter how many bottles we gulp
No matter how wholeheartedly we trust
When the ethereal high runs out in a bittersweet haze
It's time to clean them all up.

For the empty liquor bottles and empty rapt promises
Will only leave you reeking with its pungent smell
Along with trailing tears on your cheeks
And another throbbing head the next day.

I'm the warm cup of coffee
he drinks every morning,
but today he's forgotten me

I've been waiting for his
mouth to swallow me all day,
and I'm losing my warmth with
each time he forgets to drink me

After months,
his tongue longed for my sweet taste,
but now I'm cold, bitter, and sour

I thought you were my
                       lemonade stand.

But with every sip,
   I knew that you were

bitter upon my every taste..

And I asked for my dollar back.

You told me,
  

that with every lemon there
                is always pips.

but that every taste is different.

I’m tired.

Why am I doing all the work?
Because I care?
Because I’m a woman?
Because I’m stupidly in love with you?

You’re crazy.

And I’m tired, tired of it, and
Tired of you.

Get up and help me.
Get up and put some effort into me.
Get up and kiss me for once.

You’re right.
We aren’t learning anything here,
But how selfless devotion is a waste of time.
You were right,
I’m not the girl for you.
(I never will be).

And
You’re definitely not the man I thought you’d be.

You taste like hypocrite.
You taste like dark stupid masculinity.
And, baby, it doesn’t taste sweet.

Let’s just hope you taste as sweet as you feel.

So
I hate
HATE
washing dishes. But I don't
discriminate (pots and
pans and spoons and measuring
cups are also on my *****
list)

So
when I bake
in a microwave,
in one bowl,
with one mixing fork,
and no measuring tools,
it's sort of kind
of a bit of
a miracle
when the baked thing rises
AND it
tastes
ok