the beekeeper.

investment.

you love the sea,
but i love the land.

you're not aware of it yet,
but the ocean waves open up ancient scars
tattooed and carved diligently along my thighs
and they pour salt into my wounds.
the ocean is where he left me stranded.
the beach is too familiar.
i fear tidal waves and riptides,
and i fear that anchor i finally freed from my ankle would clasp around my throat if it had the chance.

deep water suffocated me at one point,
and i have been beached ever since.

now i find comfort in michigan flurries
or colorado mountains,
but i suppose we could compromise with montana.
windy,
chilled,
lovely elk roaming through the fields.
i can imagine vacationing with you there,
though i would not participate in your sports.

and i suppose,
if i began to love you,
i would follow you to the orange trees
and wade
only knee deep in the water that once wept for me.

and i suppose,
if i began to love you,
i could allow myself to be led with your finger tips
a little further in the waves
as long as you promised me i would not feel a fin brush along my calf
or puckered lips against my ankles.
you'd tell me it'd be okay and i was freaking out over nothing
and i'd tell you, "i'm trusting you."

i said that yesterday, too.
"i'm trusting you."
i'm trusting that you aren't passively humming lies to me about how you want to be with me
and i'm trusting that you want to hold my hands and kiss my face like you say you do
and i'm trusting that she truly is crazy
and i'm trusting that you really are trying to protect me.

i am putting every fibre of trust i can muster into you
and only you.

cynical and paranoid,
i'm vaguely familiar with those terms,
but i realize i'm screeching helplessly
only when you grab my shoulders and whisper,
"thou dost protest too much."
and your lips touch my forehead.
i then understand.

"baby, i would not lie to you."

the engineer that tried to fix my computer, my car, and my boat told me the same thing.

"anna, i would not lie to you."

but our whole relationship was plastered and insulated and carved with lies,
so tell me,
are you sure?

i will cover your dense shoulders in freckles
and i will massage the muscles of your arms
but i fear you will whisper another girl's name under your breath
or that you will instantly push this 160 pound weight off of your lap
once you realize how heavy it truly is against your pelvis.

it's mondays and thursdays,
mondays and thursdays are when you get to practice for the real thing.
shove me off,
lift me up,
push me down.
you're strong enough to,
i used to watch you pump.

i want the warm arkansas winds to whisper that even though you love the sea,
you love me just as much.
i want the spring rain to intermingle with my overflowing tears
and cool off my puffy, red face
and drip into my mouth to remind me that not all water has to be salty.

i want to trust you with all of my heart
and i want to follow you blindly,
but even though my eyesight is poor,
i still see every outcome in crystal clear vision.

i have invested so much into you.
please don't break me.