Self Portrait as a Cup of Coffee

I am advertised, marketed, consumed
People are obsessed; their love demands
that I change so I am not
too bitter, too strong, or too dark
nor too sweet, too weak, or too light, because
too much hurts. It hurts very much to
cover up who I am
by adding just enough milk, just enough sugar,
just to make myself pleasant enough to swallow

I want to be liked—
for people to fill my empty
Instagram heart,

so I let myself be made up and dressed up,
my face covered in latte art and my body in flimsy cups
that melt in the rain and against sweaty hands
until I realize
I don’t need to cover up with milk.          Cream.            Sugar.
No longer done up, no longer sweet, I’m no longer appealing but I no longer need to be
Now, people grimace and complain I’m too bold
but I guess they never read the warning on my lid:
CAUTION: HOT