godawful poetry. I don't want to write my paper.
I’m still doing you favors
I still am.
You just don’t notice.
Your demons have been visiting for years
They say: “We want tea!”
They don’t really want tea.
Once, you said something about eating my heart.
Then again, you were thirteen. People say stuff like that, when they’re thirteen
They want to be vampires or something.
You’re not a vampire though.
But I have been giving your demons tea.
All the vampires and werewolves you send here, they drink all my tea.
I guess it’s okay, because I don’t like tea, but still.
It’s not very polite of you.
You ought to think about how your demons act as guests.
Plus, the tea doesn’t really make them happy, I mean, it’s just tea after all.
Boiling water and weird grasses and leaves in a bag with a string
and you’re still sending them here and telling them that they want tea.
I’m telling you. They don’t want tea.
And I know that’s a hard thing to deal with,
I know you can’t satiate them with your own…tea.
But honestly, why me?
What ever made you think that I was a demon wrangler, a lassoer of creepy things?
I am not so good with them, I mean
They don’t like me, I mean that
Tea is not enough and sometimes they bite
and it hurts
and I don’t want to catch what you have, I do not like the proximity to
all this sickness
in my house
on my chairs
all these blue winged fang bearing things
and you said I was unwelcome, you said
you said you’d mind.
if I came to your doorstep
and knocked.
If I could write you, I would write you in run-on sentences
I would let your demons take charge,
I would let you see what fearsome beasties they are.
And I would not care if you cried out
I would not let you speak,
I would not, I would…
let you laugh like you always do
I would start to say something stupid, something silly, “I lo….”
No, I won’t say that, you know.
I can’t write you
can’t sing you
can’t praise Jesus in your name
can’t hate you and
can’t love you and
even sometimes, I can’t see you
But I can do one thing and your demons will help
I can deny you my tea.
And I will say, innocently,
“Oh, I am sorry. The demons, they…they drank all the tea.”
I still am.
You just don’t notice.
Your demons have been visiting for years
They say: “We want tea!”
They don’t really want tea.
Once, you said something about eating my heart.
Then again, you were thirteen. People say stuff like that, when they’re thirteen
They want to be vampires or something.
You’re not a vampire though.
But I have been giving your demons tea.
All the vampires and werewolves you send here, they drink all my tea.
I guess it’s okay, because I don’t like tea, but still.
It’s not very polite of you.
You ought to think about how your demons act as guests.
Plus, the tea doesn’t really make them happy, I mean, it’s just tea after all.
Boiling water and weird grasses and leaves in a bag with a string
and you’re still sending them here and telling them that they want tea.
I’m telling you. They don’t want tea.
And I know that’s a hard thing to deal with,
I know you can’t satiate them with your own…tea.
But honestly, why me?
What ever made you think that I was a demon wrangler, a lassoer of creepy things?
I am not so good with them, I mean
They don’t like me, I mean that
Tea is not enough and sometimes they bite
and it hurts
and I don’t want to catch what you have, I do not like the proximity to
all this sickness
in my house
on my chairs
all these blue winged fang bearing things
and you said I was unwelcome, you said
you said you’d mind.
if I came to your doorstep
and knocked.
If I could write you, I would write you in run-on sentences
I would let your demons take charge,
I would let you see what fearsome beasties they are.
And I would not care if you cried out
I would not let you speak,
I would not, I would…
let you laugh like you always do
I would start to say something stupid, something silly, “I lo….”
No, I won’t say that, you know.
I can’t write you
can’t sing you
can’t praise Jesus in your name
can’t hate you and
can’t love you and
even sometimes, I can’t see you
But I can do one thing and your demons will help
I can deny you my tea.
And I will say, innocently,
“Oh, I am sorry. The demons, they…they drank all the tea.”