I reverted back to self doubt, to a couple steps before the starting line. The jammed coffee maker a synonym for my suicide. The the open face rejection of a boy telling you, "you're not good enough" . Like a drink without a holder, I am prone to spilling over. And here I am, mopping up my insides.

It takes a song, a quote, a scent or a dream
To bring you back

No matter how long you've spent absent from my mind
Somehow, you always seem to reappear

Before, it broke my heart
Now, I hold my ground

You're never going to dissapear
But I can live with that

And I'll be just fine

I woke up an uncracked knuckle
Left the house late
Arrived early
My coffee shop closed
For good this time
The new tenants tried to sell me
On Reggae Dancercise
They explained they’d still have coffee,
A small conciliation.
I saw my sister, sat with her child
He ate cupcakes & distrusted me
For my gluten intolerance.
She is unimpressed with poetry
My sister, she falls for a Friday
I sit on a street in NoLita
It is wind-swept, as am I.
Wondering at this moment
When the next time I will
Touch hearts with another will be...
Not on this street
If today.