Green Tea

Green Tea

It’s the sound

of the critics

that makes the head hurt,

the spilling of blood

with words,

every last drop.

 

Holding art

over our heads,

with the knowledge

it was our fingers

that created it,

and them.

 

This art.

 

This critic.

 

And we let them pick us

into nothing

but a Chinese proverb,

stuffed in the fortune cookies

of every tourist restaurant

in Hong Kong.

 

To be cracked open

when the bill comes.

 

With the hot green tea.

Reviews

[Hisou_Tenshi]

Wow. I thought that was a really amazing poem! I love how the poem flowed with metaphors and the way you described art. Incredible! You did very well. Thank you for writing your poem, "Green Tea".