the beekeeper.

bees.

i don't know when it began manifesting
and i can't remember the first time i wanted to hurt someone else
but i know i've been a hateful person for years.

perhaps it was the secondhand alcohol and i'm just an angry drunk,
or maybe it was the enlarged fight-or-flight sense that was lodged into my brain at birth.

i don't know why i'm like this,
or why i want to yell and spit fire that scorches your hands.
maybe it's because of the silenced screams from those wolf attacks,
the ones that shoved themselves into a crowded closet,
banging, begging, squealing to release.

tell me, why the fuck am i so mean?

there is a sweet boy in my class.
he reminds me of a sick otter i once knew.
the bees in my breath hate that.
they rise from my left lung and merge;
they swarm and fester inside of my swollen throat until my body can no longer take the tickling of their wings
and in unison,
they fly at that boy without hesitation.

forgive me,
i know it's wrong.
i know i should be in control of my bees,
but they act like african killers and thrive on murder.
you don't deserve a single sting.
you're sweeter than the honey i make,
and maybe that's why the bees hate you so much.

but it's not just the sugar cane boy,
there's a composer who loves me even though i have given her nothing in return.
there's a pharmacist who manages to take time out of his busy day to keep me company though i dowse him in honey.
there's a cheerleader who holds my waist and murmurs, "you're a good person. you're a good person."
there's a lemon boy who gets fed up with my insects but stays around to see the end.

it's everyone.

anyone who is willing to deal with my cough
is at immense risk of a striped frenzy,
and no matter how much nectar i cry
or how many combs i kneel upon to match the pain i cause
i can't stop them from flying.

i am a cruel, ignorant beekeeper
who forces everyone they meet to sign a waiver:
"if allergic to bee stings, this ride is not for you."

if i have ever spat angry insects in your direction,
sorry cannot cover it.
it's the constant buzz inside my chest that drives me insane
and causes me to lash out and scream.
it's not your fault my voice has stingers,
it's the toxins and the buzz.

they're awakening.
it's spring time.