‘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!