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#teacups
We’re all just a mess of broken cups, waiting to be forced back together Because a broken cup is worthless So I’m worthless and you’re worthless and that’s all we can ever be so instead we sit in our China cabinet prison Waiting For no one because if we’re all broken, there is no one to fix us I often laugh to myself when people tell me they’re not insecure For I can see it leaking from the cracks in their cup, and the second I learned how to pick my broken cup from the cabinet floor and glue it back together with care They want to drink from it They want the continents that I worked so hard to get because They can’t do it themselves So instead, they seek gratitude or compliments, which are really shallow digs little do they know my tea will do them no good. It would be like replacing wine with water and claiming to still be DRUNK My cup is not yours to drink from no matter how many cracks yours acquires my tea will do you no good But my glue now that you can use So take it find how to fix your cup, so it can be properly filled for you can’t find yourself at the bottom of an Empty Cup
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Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 8:29 PM UTC
The China Cabinet
the teacups pans and plates they all talk to me i'm overcome with uncertainty and no i'm not crazy but silverware appeals to my senses
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Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
Uncertainty
A little more tea Miss? His voice suddenly grasps me back to reality. His politeness has always been his best quality. Yes Jerry, some more tea will be fine. I wouldn't say, but lately I do prefer to drink wine. His old shaking hand pours just enough, like his butler hand was taught. Into the finest pink teacups my grandmother once bought. How I long for my childhood days where I didn't need to sit and drink tea all day. How I long for the days I was still young and free to play. Now it's me and my lady like life, where I'm only allowed to dream about becoming a mother and wife. -ZvZ-
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Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
A little more tea
You've taken too long to come haunting, wading through instances of mud, of regret, until my wanting has all but dissolved. You've broken my spine with curious fingertips, an innocent ghost with fireplace eyes, where questions went unnoticed, unsolved. You've come knocking with empty cages, pulling behind what you'd begged to forget, you spoke to my spine like needles, absolved; until my teacups are dust on the shelves and your flowers don't wilt, but burn, of stove and house and noose and all.
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Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
Sillage.