You want me to close my eyes
pretend it didn’t happen
I knew when I was concerned
it was the same every time
To them it was tea
Not piping hot like they imagined
It’s kombucha, fermented
acquired, but I had told him he’d have to
wait for it to be ready—
Did you forget I was the one to hold accountability
Bury you on my property
a patch of flowers as the plot marker
Water my emotions on top
even though I said I was done pouring it out for you
You could’ve ripped me at the seam
you didn’t have to tear me at the knees
Patchwork isn’t my specialty
Thank you for teaching me—
I was wrong—
I’ve been selfish
I thought it had settled
no, it was an optical illusion
I knew sobriety came at the cost of new reflections
That brown bottle I was sipping on wasn’t alcohol
but I could really use a shot right now—
blow to the head
clip the sutures, no patience
for the same old trick
But I like my tea like kombucha
and I swear to god you didn’t give a shit
PaleDeerPoetry 