‘On Accepting and Shelving My Burnt-Black-Coffee Self: A Poem

When I socialise, demoralised

over cup after cup of glass-half-full

non-caffeinated

virtual hot beverage, I am immediately uncoupled from my twin flames, myself and I, so who’s left?

Me. Burnt out. Black-coffeed. Dramatically dehydrated.

I hug my burnt-black-coffee self with my loose arms, muscles relaxed, but steady as bookshelves,

momentarily armed, moneyed, materialised with breathing, reading material.

Bye-bye or rather welcome (back), sugar!

 

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