I have bees in my house.
In the kitchen, the television, the shoe rack.
Sometimes I press my ears to the walls
and they whisper back their death.
"Follow me to the fridge where family pictures paint;
the television that tells you there is always the end;
the empty seats where shoes used to be placed."
Here lies a vacancy for the bees to be my friend.
I have tended to a garden of pollen grains,
counting one wildflower for a thought.
Honey-coated lies to any trespasser
to get out of my house, my grief and loss.
I look into their eyes.
"There are bees in my house.
You should turn your head now.
Don't risk the unthinkable.
Hurt people hurt people."
Hurry, get out
before the bees go wild.
-----
Author's note:
I wrote this during one of my lower points. There were many thoughts going through my head, so I called them 'bees' because they wouldn't stop buzzing.
The story in this poetry is fictional and up to the reader to decipher (though I dropped hints of what might have happened, just not the full story!)
Hope you enjoyed! :)
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qurencia < poetry collection >
PoetryA poetry collection of my thoughts, feelings and words from the soul, which I hope to give you a sense of belonging and a homoe while saying "You're not alone". querencia : "A place where one feels safe; a place from which one's strength of charac...
