Sincerely- B,

**We had to write this type of poem for my english class, about and exhibit in a museum! I chose to write about the “Bee Tree.” Really my first attempt at using this kind of stanza structure. Hope yall like it. Love you, happy Wednesday**

Black. Like the earth smothered
by nighttime. A never ending
infinity of wide open sky. But the heavens cant
be reached without the air stealing my breath.

Yellow. Like the marriage between
the rich sunlight and my primal need
keeping the flowers alive. But, still, they would
be nothing with out the rain.

Queen. Cloaked in warmth and dignity.
The love between us as beautiful and
pure as the honey drizzling down my jar.
Here she left me,

Alone. This hive is crowded,
the constant hums altering the
natural rhythm of my own broken heart.
I don’t know who I am without her.

Flowers. I nursed my infatuation for
you. Allowed it to blossom, cradled in
tightly. Close to my heart as we melted into one.
Now the flowers are dead.

Buzzing. Monotone screams,
reminding me this is home.
Drowning in the cries of mirror images
of things I no longer want to be.

Open. This space is overwhelmed
by freedom. However the constraints of
the ghost of my infatuation keep
me coming home.

Fly. She is no longer my home. I just want
this humming to stop. Buzzing to stop.
Heartbreak to stop. This hive has nothing
more to offer me. I think that its time for me to fly.

Good-bye.

hIr

“its okay.”

breath on my neck humbling the tremors in my hands. gliding. like butter. her hands wrapped around my hands wrapped around sweet ecstasy. i cant describe it. indulging in such delicacies. the rush of excitement of driving at three am. closing your eyes and pushing the pedals down; she leaves it up to chance. while the sadness drips from my veins she holds me, rocks me. hushes me. i can feel her tears burn into my cheeks. why is she sobbing? on tuesday night i tell her that i am done. that i do not want to do this anymore. she smiles-

“its too late.”

ten minutes after the bell she stumbles inside. late. the coffee on her breath muffled by the alcohol seeping from my pores. the dead of night reflecting itself in the circles under her eyes. i am tired. tired of seeing her this way. shes tired. tired of the boys and the booze and the chemistry tests. she spends hours in the library. hours calculating risks, hours analyzing equations, hours reviewing the statistics. seconds in the bar. seconds learning your name, seconds in the back seat, seconds before she whispers-

“show me your dark side.”

i felt the vibrations of her lips melt into yours. i sealed my mouth. please do not say another word. she ripped the clothes from my skin. i do not want to meet any part of you. instead i lay down, watch her eyes. black. i feel your body twitching. your sweat dripping into my skin. again i meet her eyes. glazed over. staring at the ceiling. the thirty seconds you occupy her body she is allowed to leave. three is a crowd. she asks me to wait in the car. stains of humiliation paint her neck, even after the darkness in her eyes disappears. on the drive home i ask her why she lays down with people who make her feel so alone-

“i love it.”

i stopped recognizing her. a strangers touch replacing a warm embrace. visiting a grave; knowing the body that once gave you so much peace is being devoured in the darkest places this universe has to offer. still i fought for her. like a solider defending his country i defended her right to sanity. i told her she was beautiful and intelligent and deserved happiness. but she described hating herself as a type sickness. a cancer that manifest in your brain and illuminates though your smile. she doesn’t seem to care. making no efforts to get better. having a so called love affair with every form of self destruction available to a nineteen year old child. i am lost. im screaming that i don’t know how to help her. bewildered i ask her who she has become-

“you. i am you.”

 

“certain individuals cannot handle what they have become. they project their discrepancies onto other people, act as though someone else is the reason they do what they do. they create a world where their sadness, emptiness and self loathing doesn’t exist. instead they are meerly a bystander, disassociated from themselves. we can only imagine how detrimental it is when they discover the reality of the situation.”

dIrty

your whispers danced in my head as the room flooded with sounds of rushing water. promises. words. water. guarantees. validation. water. i picked apart each sentence. evaluated the meaning behind each word, searching for any reason to discredit you. over analyzed. my questions regarding your motives, answered by the clarity flowing from the  faucet.

your hands peeled my clothes away. soft palms running along my back, stripping my shirt over my head. leaving my hair to delicately drop across my shoulders. bony fingers dismantled the the locks behind my back, setting my soul free. the same fingers hooked around my sanity and slowly slid it to the ground. my body clothed with nothing more than your eyes.

a single glare caused lumps to form in the pit of my stomach and butterflies to flutter up my throat. as if my body was a cold glass of water presented in front of a man dying of thirst. brown eyes breaking their lock on my body to connect with my own innocent gaze. watching my reaction to your lips pressing against my skin.

steam poured from inside me as your lips familiarized with my body. mthe vibrations of your voice left my mind blank, left my back arched, left my fingers tousled in your curls. the longer your skin married into mine, the harder for me to catch my breath. pink lips decorating my collar bone. my stomach. my thighs. pink lips that coaxed me into the bath you had drawn for us.

submerged in water i waited for you to wrap your arms around me. hold me steady. hold me safely inside the warmth of your wet bare skin. instead i sat confused as you ran my naked body along ribbed boards. erased the clarity from my water with a thick smell of bleach. held my head under suds and rang the life out of my body.

you have to wash your dirty laundry, before you hang it out to dry.

 

paIn.

its falling in love with heartbreak. because when he kissed my neck the gun pressed against my temple didnt feel so cold. he held my hand while he filled the syringe, swallowing the needle in pools of insults. insulting every variance that made me, me. not before long i learned to shoot the poison into my own veins. sharing his needles, willing to openly inject his pain in between my toes. as my heart exploded i smiled, threw my head back in ecstasy. the night i decided to get sober he held a pillow over my face. love is suffocating my soul, and i love it.

its all five stages of grief at once. bitter streaks of anger dancing around a cloud of denial. i closed my eyes and ran the knife across my throat, out of sight out of mind. swearing on my brothers grave that i will get help tomorrow, pretending i can walk away at any time. offering the soul of my mother in exchange for my freedom. waking up early every day to fertilize a field of blossoming daises, knowing that nothing will ever grow inside me. being beaten by hatred and consoled by emptiness. accepting that if this is all life has to offer, i  don’t want to be apart of it anymore.

its drowning in your own bed. the darkness of 4am rubs my back and crawls up my nose. i carved out my rational mind to build her a home between my eyes. she whispers. always whispering. making promises she cant keep. i believed her assuring me there is beauty in pain; as the weight of the water slowly crush my ribs. even when my eyes are open im bathing in black. inhaling water is peaceful. the rush of tears into my lungs numbed her voice. the bottom of the ocean is cold, it is empty. those who sit on the floor sit alone. i thanked the man who risked his life to save me, but hated him for not letting my drown.

its liberating. its uncertainty. its morbid. watching an abused wife pull the trigger; finally releasing her husbands hands from her neck. the day your rapist is sentenced to life in prison, the day your dad is put on parole. shaking the hand of the man who beat your sister to death. acing the test you studied for. anorexia during thanksgiving. storming out of a room and being chased by the love of your life. holding pieces of your lovers skull in your hands. swearing you can change the devil. never having to wake up. all at the same time.

its realizing that she lied. there is no beauty in pain.

i miss it every day