Avril Song

You took your coffee black,

And your breath always smelled of it;

Deep, sharp, and burnt.

Even after a brushing,

It only left the stench masked in wintergreen.

As if you only grazed the bristles across your teeth.

You denied to go further, to the source of it,

And left your tongue littered with the taste.

This same tactic spills into all you do,

So let me tell you:

It’s not enough to hide one behind the other,

Dripping minty visuals over the way you treated me.

Your narcissism masked with claims of love and altruism.

But I see the truth.

I know the bitter taste of your expectations and control,

All given in hopes I’ll prove what you couldn’t on your own.

Later, that scent will waft in the air as my coffee brews.

It’s been years since I thought of you.

But I’m contended to say I don’t hide behind the same guise.

I splash milk to cradle my sharp edges, and leave them smooth,

And a touch of honey turns my bitterness lovely, and sweet.

We share the same depths but carry them differently.

My resentment towards you has long since withered.

But on my tongue, a question is still littered.

How can I lift you from your depths and despair?

I want to meet for coffee,

And share with you what I’ve learned.

There’s too much to say, and I’m scared you won’t hear,

So just like you, I mask my thoughts, and all of my words.

Silence falls between us,

But a smile turns my lips, as your black coffee meets yours.

“Dad, how about some milk and honey?”