Her ached limbs force her brain to awaken
And exile herself from her kingdom of sheets and blankets
That she has demolished within the span of maybe three or four hours of sleep.
She forces herself to stand upon the chilled desert that is her hardwood floor.
She stumbles against the dresser,
Staggers through the corridor,
And collapses against the kitchen doorway.
What an exhausting journey this bed head princess must make
To obtain the mocha flavoring that entices her taste buds.
Sweetness spreads along her tongue,
Heat lingers through her skin.
The tips of her fingers mingle with cup’s body.
Her lips would rather kiss the edge of this glass than any sovereign
And she will rise to such an awakening occasion,
Reclaim her mattress dominion.
With a heated iron fist,
She will seize this morning.
Teresa is in ninth grade. She says, “I love art, but writing is the only form of art that I completely relish. I suck at drawing; anatomy is hard.”