Strawberry Matcha Boba Tea

I am strawberry matcha boba tea 

from the Kung-Fu Tea a couple miles from my house. 

A strange drink that probably 

shouldn't even exist. 

I splash when I walk. 

Sugar spills down my ribs, 

and the tapioca pearls rattle inside me 

Like loose teeth, 

like I was built with 

a chaotic touch. 

Every sip of me is a gamble 

Sometimes I'm pure sugar, 

Sometimes I’m bitter, like grass, 

Sometimes you choke on me 

and laugh about it later. 

Even sealed tight in plastic, 

I fizz, I shake, 

I want to explode through the straw, 

to stain your hands pink and green 

so you never forget I was here. 

But the truth is, 

I’m always half-finished, 

lukewarm by the time you notice me again. 

You carry me around like an obligation, 

like something too strange to throw away, 

and I sit there, 

wondering if I was ever really 

worth the sip.