I am not a paper cup.
You fill me up, but once you've sated your thirst, drunk me down, toss me away without a care.
No thought, no awareness of sustainability, the lasting effect, the impact you've made.
You lips touched the brim of me, leaving your mark. Your fingers stained the blank canvas with use, with discovery, with your thirst you desired to whet.
The marks of you still etched in my memory, in my DNA, like a pencil etches grooves on the page- you can erase what was once there, but the faint impression has changed the blankness, the makeup of the page.
A paper cup is hollow, shallow, not enough to contain the infinite depths of me.
You peer into my vessel, but there is no bottom, no end for you to see...
Does that scare you?
The unquantifiable, immeasurable, uncontrollable essence?
Or is it the reflection you see returned, the you in me, peering back at you?
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Tarah Dougherty and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.