you don't have to be sorry.

childhood bee sting

i was always a lady bug.
growing up that was my name.
full of life, content in my red delicate oval wings with spots of desire.
the bee stung me.
I didn't ask to be stung.
I didn't ask to be hurt.
but it still happen.
I'll just root around in my scar the bee left me, digging out the sting and searching for the reason someone would do that.
so I'll cry, conceal it with my lovely secretly stinging wings, and carry on.
how can something so loveable be hurt inside so much?