The Fuel of the Intellecutal

The rich aroma seeps through the

house before the sun

begins to creep over the horizon,

its bitter flavor washes over my tongue

and warms my body,

I feel my mind awaken,

the haze lifts,

and I am free to think.

My brain begins to whir

and my thought become more clear,

more intellectual;

without it I am trapped.

Held prisoner behind the thick curtain

of exhaustion that still plagues me after

the restless night,

unable to lift the heavy weights that

I can feel pulling my eyelids downward.

Coffee is my freedom.


This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741