i did a project about a week or two ago for my creative writing class- telling us to write a recipe for something that wasnt edible- in the format of a poem. i mightve went off script a little bit, but nonetheless wanted it here to keep, as all my poetry archives are <3333
make some tea
make some tea and
put the kettle on the stove
but notice that the kettle is still sitting
in the sink,
untouched for weeks
you havent thought about comforting yourself
with the warmth
of a drink
in quite a while
wash the kettle out and
leave the other dishes to rot
and, feel guilty,
and then do the dishes
because nobody else is around to do them for you
place the kettle on the stove
burnt coffee still sitting at the bottom of the burner
spider web left in the small cracks
without a spider.
it mightve been the one you killed in the bathroom and then
set the wet kettle on the stove and then
notice, your hands,
placing the kettle down.
scarred and charred and disgusting and
dry your hands on your sweater
foamed a layer thick with the dust of the closet
and go wash your
start the stove
water dripping from your fingertips onto your socks
remember that you need water to drink, actually.
so silly to forget,
so turn the stove off,
and grab a yellow cup from the cupboard thats cracked
from when you dropped it at 8 years old and your mother
yelled at you
and made you glue it back together
sit down and think about how you miss your mother
and wonder why, exactly, you miss her
and feel the guilt from that thought press along your ribcage
think about how you always made her tea she didnt drink
because she always said it was too sweet
it stung her throat
remember the tea
i was making tea, wasnt i?
you open the cupboard and
you dont have any tea anymore
and now scold yourself for going through the tea already even though you
just went to the store a week ago
was it two?
maybe three weeks ago?
maybe you havent left since a month and a half ago
when you misplaced your car keys and didnt have the
will to search for them.
maybe coffee will do?
but coffee reminds you of your father and
not coffee today.
ill just make the tea
that i got a week ago at the store.
pick up a new cup from the dishes you just washed
and fill it halfway
and tip some of the extra water out
because, surely you dont need to drink that much?
and pour some more out
the rest of it
because you dont really deserve this tea, do you?
acting as if you need comfort like some child
telling yourself you need to be consoled
and you cant even think of what
your ugly arms and disgusting hands and your
and then decide that, yeah, maybe,
because of how horrible you are
and all these days spent alone with yourself in between these warped walls,
you could spare some comfort
to make up for it
find another cup
a new one,
and fill it
to the brim
and open the kettle and finally,
god, what took you so long?
fill the kettle.
and shut the kettle lid.
and think about how your home, now, is sort of like
that kettle lid
and how its not a home
and never will be a home because
you live in it
thats what your mother said, wasnt it?
never a home with such a wretched thing
so that kettle lid is like your
but its not yours
they left you here, a while ago-
twist the stove nob and listen to the blue fire thrum underneath
rhythmic clinking as it starts itself up
and place your hand on the side of the metal pot to feel it vibrating
step away and watch as it
steams and whistles with the heat trapped inside
open the cupboard to grab the tea box while you hear it boiling over
and ruining the stove
with the home of the spider you didnt even have the heart to bury, of course, and maybe if you just had a bit of-
ha. youre out of tea. yes.
of course youre out of tea
did you forget?
maybe they took it with them when they left
so they could make tea the proper way that they had wanted all along
not too sweet
how could you of forgotten?
how could you of-
and theres not even-
theres nobody around to drink it
only warm homes with warm people and silly warm placemats
have some warm drinks to warm their stomachs
tea is for those with a stomach to hold it
you grab your stomach and feel the crater in the middle
that you havent filled
so think about how, well, that’s plenty ruined now
all that trouble and waste and
remember how you have that
with instant coffee?
and all the emergency forks and plastic and
the tea bag you ripped open and set in there a year ago because
you didnt want to drink it after all, then,
and while the water is still losing itself over the edge,
open the drawer and
look at that lone tea bag
hold it up like a prize
knuckles that crack as you squeeze
go to the kettle, triumphant
a spark of hope
and burn your hand as you touch the handle
and drop the kettle
and as half of it pours out of the lid onto the floor and in between your
stand there and watch it
and dont cry.
such a simple thing and you
shouldn’t be crying
but cry anyways and then
press your thumb into the burn mark on your palm
and feel it
and dont bandage it yet.
remind yourself that good things never happen when hope gets too heavy
and then go to the bathroom where you killed the spider and bandage it
wind your arms around yourself and squeeze
bury your nose into your collar
and quietly sneeze the dust away
take a moment to just stand.
pick up the kettle
and throw away the tea bag you left on the floor
pour the water in the cup you broke and
think about the coffee and
sit down in your house with your disgusting neck and the dead spider and your immobile knuckles
bury your face into your red palms and cry
and sniff into your sweater
drink your warm water and
but if you go into your room and stand in the doorway
and watch the small figure underneath it shift
slide your socks off with your pinkie
pad over and
dip into the blankets
and breathe in softly as you feel the figure settle against the crater in your ribcage
youll wont of needed the tea
you dont have to make tea later
and you dont have to drink it now