apparently tea somehow helps hold me together in the morning.

poetry

morning comes with no milk for my child
no water for my tea
and i leave the house without my routine
broken somehow in my own strength
buying breakfast on the street as i was
denied my granola
i hop aboard my bike and head in to work
munching slowly on my egg crepe stuffed
with spicy potatoes enjoying it almost exactly
the way i like it.

then legs emerge from the potatoes and before
i would allow myself to distinguish a head
i bite
and sans-chew i spit you out.
the rest of my meal untarnished is to be
now consumed because
dang it.
there was no water for my tea.

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