I was flirting with tea
Sweet, diluted and with a tinge of ginger laced through it
I felt like a grown-up in a swanky neighborhood
‘No I will just have one sugar cube, please’

There was your average glassy-eyed young man
Reverberating the sort of bonhomie
That will infect you but if you try to talk to him
He’ll just sip his own weak concoction in mature indignity

There was the grandmotherly-lacy woman
With graying hair and withering fingers
Who will offer you a plate of cookies and muffins
And ask you what you did for a living

I didn’t feel like I belonged here anymore
It was like I was a hippie chick in jeans and a loose tee
I was counting the moments until I could escape
Shooting for the moon this way was not for me
I would rather have a homemade-cup of tea


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