On a Saturday afternoon I spill
myself onto you
over chai tea lattes,
my hopes and dreams pooling
on the table,
carefully collected, written down
to remember later.
I peer into my mug as you scribble,
and I can’t help
but see a reflection,
how an interview is so similar to
the coffee shop in
which we sit.
I’ve spent all my life
pouring my heart
into being both who I want to be
and who I think
you’re looking for.
I’ve filled myself to the brim with
being wholly myself,
and being sometimes not,
which isn’t so wrong when
you stop to think that not many
people are really doing what they love.
As I cup the chai between sweaty fingers
and think of how best to show you who I am,
I allow every last
part of me to be spilled out
and mopped up to satisfy
what you
want to know.
myself onto you
over chai tea lattes,
my hopes and dreams pooling
on the table,
carefully collected, written down
to remember later.
I peer into my mug as you scribble,
and I can’t help
but see a reflection,
how an interview is so similar to
the coffee shop in
which we sit.
I’ve spent all my life
pouring my heart
into being both who I want to be
and who I think
you’re looking for.
I’ve filled myself to the brim with
being wholly myself,
and being sometimes not,
which isn’t so wrong when
you stop to think that not many
people are really doing what they love.
As I cup the chai between sweaty fingers
and think of how best to show you who I am,
I allow every last
part of me to be spilled out
and mopped up to satisfy
what you
want to know.
