when i was sick. 

it was my mother in a cup - still is.

a smooth lavender hug,

a friend that cannot be doubted,

a reason to face the day.

it used to be rebellion - 

my friend told me that her nonna snuck her coffee for the first time -

but now has become an assumption.

it is sprouting into life,

a reminder that you are larger than you once were.

i used to shudder at bitterness but now i chase it,

i don't know in how many ways.

i think a lot about why we are okay with addiction in some forms,

why headaches and shudders are normal in a cup

but i don't think i will ever have a conclusion,

maybe we are all just chasing warmth.

in a way, i am a little girl again.

i am six years old, sitting at a breakfast bar,

watching my mother float by the stove.

i can be small and soft and comfortable is a way

i cant be anymore.

so i offer my money

to the system i hate the most,

just for a taste of the nostalgic comfort i've come to value so much.