PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

honey. sweet, sticky, gooey sap. rising early to make tea- online says its good for you. its good to crawl out of bed early and stretch and walk miles and affirm and write ten things down with bullets. this is too much for me. the bullets miss me by miles and i decide a cup of tea is enough self-work for me today. squeezing out of the plastic ribbed bottle. it plops into leafy water and sinks quickly to the murky bottom of the mug. warm in my hands, then, too hot. i set it down and see some honey has missed it's high dive. it trudges down the slick side of the cup and into rings on the counter. reaching for a paper towel, then my forearm sticking to its trap on the marble. yellow stick in the arm hairs, hot air shooting out of nostrils, fingers curling into fists. wet paper towel, wiping it off of me. pocket buzzes through to the thigh, doorbell rings, fridge leaks. pittering around, tending to it all. tea's gone cold, honey unstirred. taunts dressed up as a nicety, and lack of control that thumps from my heart to the top of my head back down to my sticky arms.