My mind fills up as I stir up my cup The lemonade swirls As the sweet and sour mix and mingle My inner thoughts begin to tingle The sweet over powers the sour for a while

The sweet overjoyed to have company The sweet ready for it all I feel great I feel strong

The sour starts to grow stronger as the sweet dissolves Am I great Am I strong Is my lemonade too strong?

Some say the lemonade I make is too sour for them Who am I to judge Some say the lemonade I make is too sweet for them Who am I to judge

The lemonade swirl starts to slow The wild thoughts start to go Still too sour Still too sweet Who am I to judge

Is my lemonade too strong for you?

Bütün yemekleri sevdiğimden seçim yapamıyorum. karşındaki insanların hepsini sevemeyeceğime göre yemek ve lezzet olarak sevmediğin bir kişiye ne sunacağımı bilemedim. aklıma gelen ya aşırı tuzlu, aşırı acı, ya da bozulmaya 100 tutmuş yiyecekler aklıma geliyor. bazı insanlar aklıma geldiğinde çok tuzlu bir yemek yapılmış bu yemek içimi susuzluktan öldürüyor ve sızlatıyor. bazısı bozulmuş yelken lezzet veriyor ancak sonunda mide ağrısı yapıyor. bazısı da müthiş acı yedikten sonra yakıp kavuruyor. belki de hangi yemek olduğu değil yemeğin nasıl sunulduğu yenildiği ve o akılda kalan tattır belki de

Lemon. A flavor I never thought I would like as much as I do.

Starts off a bit sourly, but the more you bite, the better it gets.

At least in my opinion.

But lemon is not cinnamon. Not the perfect choice, but I guess, lemon tastes good too.

I know this was weird and didn’t make sense, but I’m trying to figure something out with a romantic thing, I guess?

If I am to be going to hell anyway, I may as well taste the forbidden fruit before I die.

He tastes sweet, like honey; his lips feel soft, like cotton candy.

I crave him like a starved man, yet no matter what, I'm never full.

My hunger for him is never sated; him i'll forever crave.

— not super proud of this one and definitely not my best work—

Just thinking about him makes me sick. How can such a man be so perfect and yet so disgusting at the same time? I am convinced there is a thing as ‘too perfect’, and that would be him. My thoughts slowly spiral as my finger mindlessly makes contact with the phone screen. Images of Ryan Fich insult my vision as I try to look for a single flaw. “That’s it! I can’t find a single one!” I accidentally made Kassandra jump, after all, it had been silent for roughly ten minutes. “Viv, there is no way that he is perfect. No one is perfect.” She groans. “I swear he is. Ryan does everything by the book, dressed to the nines, and not a single wrinkle can be found on his clothes. I can’t stand it!” “You can’t stand someone else being more perfect than you. Your OCD messes with your head all the time anyway.” For a moment I glare at Kassandra. The hardest thing about being friends with someone like her is that she doesn’t care whose feelings get hurt by what she says. Her words burn their way through my ears and trickle down to my heart. All the admiration I may have had for her- gone. The pathetic part of me reveals it self, painting the best scenario in my head involuntarily. “Kassi, are you hungry? I think I’m hungry…” My voice had been no more than a mere grumble. I didn’t wait for a response from her before I left my bedroom, clouded with frustration. Instead of being ugly with words, I occasionally choose an atrocious food. Some therapist I had in my younger adult years suggested cooking how I felt compared to being destructive and exhibiting behaviors that would be detrimental to my health. Once in the kitchen, I make up my mind on making dinner for my so-called friend. I “accidentally” turn the oven on a bit too high and wait for it to preheat. While the oven heats up, I begin to work on prepping peppers to be cooked on the stove. Normally you would de-seed peppers before cooking them but I leave them in so that way Kassi can experience a new level of heat, one that burns her worse than she burned me… at least that’s my hope. I search for the most over-ripe onion I have with the desire of making her feel gross on top of it. I’m pretty sure the saying is “revenge is best served cold” but I say it’s best served hot and disgusting. Garlic bread goes in the oven without a timer because my nose is pretty good at figuring out when toast is done. A dinner isn’t complete without a protein so a slimey piece of chicken gets tossed into the pan with the peppers on the stove. That’s what she is: slimey and grimey. ‘Maybe she’ll see herself in this dish when I give it to her.’ My inner voice hisses as a nasty smile creeps onto my face. Twenty minutes later, a black rock, crusty chicken and depressing peppers rest on a plate and I head back to Kassandra with them. “I made this especially for you! I hope you can taste every bit of hatred in it. Turns out I can be ugly too.” Actually, I think it’s ‘revenge is best served on a silver platter’.

June I made you some popcorn. It’s for the way you spoke to me yesterday. It wasn’t harsh by any means, but you still managed to startle me with your percussive criticisms. I allowed the edges to burn a bit. I’m hoping some husks get caught in your teeth.

July It was during our last quarrel that I lost my taste for potato chips. I used to power through the little cuts but... that was back when I enjoyed their flavor. You can have what remains if you’d like. I’m always bad about closing the chip bag, so they’re probably a bit stale now.

August Happy birthday. Your cupcake’s on me. I made sure to get the one with blackberry icing – your favorite. They even topped it with a blackberry drizzle. I asked the baker behind the counter for a list of ingredients in case you’d like to make these on your own at some point. I know, I know. I’m the best! I can’t wait to play annoyed when you obsess over the recipe. It’ll be good to share a laugh with you again.

September It’s funny... I thought you were going to buy me a cupcake this month. It seemed like an appropriate thing to do. If you’ve popped by my apartment to hang out, sorry friend, I’ll be home late. There’s last year’s Halloween candy in the cupboard somewhere if you get hungry. I know you hate pineapple Jolly Ranchers, but I guess so do the trick-or-treaters.

October I made you a sandwich. It dropped on the floor. My dog ate it. There was no bread left to make a new one.

November I heard you were feeling a bit under the weather. I’ll drop some coconut ginger soup by your place sometime this weekend. I’m hoping it turns out alright. My last few batches were a bit salty.

December My shopping cart is loaded with pineapples and blackberries. I know we’re having brunch tomorrow, but I just can’t decide what to serve.

The sweet, sugary taste of a hot caramel latte will always remind me of you. This might be because the coffee you make is the only coffee I have ever truly liked. Or it might be the fact that a single sip can put me so quickly at ease just like a single kiss from you. Now whenever I taste a caramel latte, my tongue sends a message to my brain and I am reminded that I am loved by you. And I’m not sure if it’s the caffeine or the thought of this that awakens me in the morning. Sometimes I don’t even feel like drinking coffee, it is just the best excuse to see you. I usually have wait for a little while as you serve someone else but that means I get to watch your face light up when you see me and suddenly I feel lighter, happier. I am always running late for work and I am always grumpy and tired but coming to get coffee from you is my favourite part of the day. Even though you’re at work and we are surrounded by people, it feels as though we’re alone just for this moment. You smile, wrap your arms around me and tell me you love me and we talk for a little while and I forget what Im supposed to be doing because this moment with you is what I’m really here for, not the coffee.

I have a friend who is always lazy. She moans and groans and drives me crazy. Nevertheless, we manage to have lots of fun. I just wish she wouldn't be super lazy.

Laziness tastes like a cup of coffee; strong and lukewarm, yet old and bland. I don't like the taste of coffee, not even the taste of this kind. However, this is why I do mind.

Lazy isn't the best taste in the world. Coffee makes me gag and want to hurl. Please don't be lazy my friend.

It is not a taste for you.

He’s a fresh winter breeze Just a little to crisp. Like a hot cup of cocoa And a little bit of mist.

Always on my mind He helps me through the pain. He has a peppermint smile That stops all the rain

The taste of orange Like a summers day First to ask what’s wrong He keeps the sadness away

Conflicting personalities That fit so well He makes it work Isn’t it swell

Peppermint and orange Rustic yet young A crisp summer breeze Can’t get the taste off my tongue

Chilli. An angry spice, A fiery spice, An evil spice, Tongue tingling, Eye watering, SPICE.

Sometimes kind, Other times fiery hot, Nothing will cure, The spice of the CHILLI, She’s sometimes the hottest CHILLI, Other times the least, Sometimes she as cool as a cucumber, Other times not.