mayawrites

Deep underground under my room.

There are tiny people.

With muscles knitted with straw,

And chipped rims.

They dress in wares made of cotton,

And slurp juice from their lungs.

They are tiny,

Like speckles of real gold in glitter.

They live in teacups.

They despise tea,

And everything related to tea.

The plant from which tea is derived,

brewing methods,

teapots and infusers,

and most of all

they hate parties

and fun.

around the fire,

in the rain,

in the sun,

in the cold,

all they want

in life

those simple beings

are cotton.

Juice.

And a girl,

whose room,

they can live under,

inside,

tiny,

tea,

cups.