Teenage Hooligan: An Original Poetry Chapbook

Genie in a Coffee Mug

February 19th, 2020
16 Years Old

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I'm sitting in this coffee shop like I'm sitting in purgatory.
Edison light bulbs floating, my leg bouncing
I don't notice the pastel blue mug in my hand is leaving hot imprints on my palm.

I'm feeling like a caged lion, starved to learn that I need to please others to survive.
Sometimes I wish the smoke stuck on my lips would pull me into the air with them.
A swirling, beautiful tragedy with each inhale.

Hades is grabbing my hand, dragging me through clouds of anything that will distract me from the fact that my god had been long forgotten.

My tale, my life story, my wishes, my attempts, my pain.
It will all be buried with this shell of a body.
Slowly rotting from the inside out, I can no longer find the courage to be happy.

You see, there is a special kind of comfort in sadness.
Disassociating, I see a figure form in my mug
Forgotten caffeine that would only, in the end, make my anxiety worse.

Once again I'm face to face with myself.
She's exactly what I had been wishing to be.
Strong, confident, a sense of attitude that only received respect.

"Well, here I am." I think to myself.
But it's not me.
A smiling, goofy woman who sits across from me
Has stolen my identity while being a complete stranger.

She asks me, "What are your other two wishes?"
And in all honesty I do not know.
I can not give her an answer that isn't persuaded by the dark cloud blurring my vision.

So she fizzles away.
And I'm left in this coffee shop.
Wondering why I would ruin my chance with the genie in my coffee mug.

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