We Live Like Teacups

This poem is inspired by blogger, Cristian Mihai, after I read a profound post a couple days ago on human nature and our ability to hold onto the past too tightly and it got me in the writing mood. If you’re curious about the post click here to have a read.

This resulted from their words:

 

WE LIVE LIKE TEACUPS

We live like teacups.

Porcelain lines our lives –

fragile surfaces,

gold trim, embossed.

 

We live like teacups.

We fill our bodies to the top,

dreams feel the heat of our yearning,

bubbling until it spills over.

 

We live like teacups.

The stains of our lives branding us.

Each holds a dampened dream

left standing.

 

We live like teacups

filled until the pot’s empty.

A cycle of filling and being drained

and we become our gathering stains.

 

We live like teacups.

With passing days the stains deepen

until we are sepia:

the ironic hue.

 

We live like teacups.

What’s left behind

changes our faces,

our surfaces thin.

 

We live like teacups.

We scratch at our marks

‘til the porcelain chips

and the gold trim peels.

 

We live like teacups.

We once held the water

but now it seeps from our cracks,

and our bodies grow cold.

 

We live like teacups,

reliving our past-stained

porcelain lives whilst dreams fill up

and water rages hot for tomorrow’s cup.

 

We live like teacups

cracked and bruised by yesterday’s wants.

Our gold trim has turned black,

but the pot keeps brewing.

 

It keeps brewing

and it keeps steaming,

heating up,

dreaming.

 

We live like broken tea cups

when we should be the pot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*featured image from © 2016 All rights reserved

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