I might not be your cup of tea.
Perhaps you aren't partial to the taste of me,
My water not clear, to you too cloudy.
My personality a bit strong for your palate.
But just because you can't handle it
Doesn't mean that I need to dilute it.
See, this brew, that's been stewing,
For way too long
This pot forever sat on the stove, always on,
This whistling and screaming, the warning song,
Till the water had dried, and disappeared, was all gone.
That told those that were near "don't you dare fuck with me"
As if all of my rage could be defined by mere tea.
You seem to look through a filter that I obviously don't see.
So i see i might seem too much, your basic bitch needs,
But I have no desire to change or now please.
I am me.
Heavily sugared, black tea.
A juxtaposition, both bitter and sweet.
A confused and diffused, in a teapot story
Of my defiance, exactly who i am meant to be.
Like tea leaves..
And gypsys mapping our destinys
The trials and tribulations as I make my journey,
So if to your taste i'm not satisfactory
Then go wake your mum to make you a coffee.