Why am I even here?

On the day that I suffered a psychotic break, I waited at Starbucks and waited in order to meet someone, and while I was waiting, I wrote this. I think it qualifies as a poem.



I'm waiting here

I'm trying to reach out.

I don't want caffeine.

I don't like people.

I don't want to move.

I can't afford to spend more money.

I'm at Starbucks... AGAIN!

I've been here for like, 3 hours, waiting to meet someone.

He's not a date.

He's a local activist.

I just want to MEET this person!

I'm kinda poor, so...

You do me, I'll do you... wait, that's not right...

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed