the beekeeper.

this is not a poem.

this is not a poem.
whether the words are poetic or not,
this is not a poem.
this is an outcry.

i find myself sinking.
have you ever lost someone,
and you're unsure of how or why they left you
but they're also still there?
emotionally they're detached,
and it came like a tornado:
quick and fast and devastatingly,
and you, after all the havoc and hell it caused,
you dwell day in and day out on what you could've done differently to save yourself and everything you had.

have you ever experienced that?
have you ever survived that?

this is not a poem.
this is me trying to find closure and comfort in my words.

i fell in love as soon as he fell out of lust.
how heartbreaking,
how horrific.

i don't know what i did wrong.
i gave him what he asked of me:
i gave him time,
i gave him space,
i gave him comfort,
i gave him advice,
i gave him happiness,
i gave him everything i had to offer,
and he left me.

i just came back from a vacation.
i haven't spoken to him in four days,
and i hoped,
i pleaded that he would miss me.
i prayed that when i returned,
he would whine and curl up against my chest and breathe:
"i missed you so much."
because that's what he would've done a month ago,
but in reality,
i came back and waited hours for a simple response.
anything.
a word, a phrase.
i was alone.
and when he finally awoke and saw i had returned,
he spoke very few words and disappeared back into his room.

this is not a fucking poem.
this is a verbal heartbreak and a craving of euthanasia.

i miss being royalty to him.
i miss being his baby,
his sweetheart.
i miss him asking how my day was.
i miss him telling me he'd fuck the every loving life out of me
and i miss talking to him
but most importantly,
i miss him talking to me.

he assured me he still cares,
but that was weeks ago,
and right after that we fought and bickered to the point where we didn't talk for days on end.
now i feel like i'm back at step one.
it took me seven months to build up what i had with that birdboy.
seven fucking months to draw his attention,
and i feel like it's going to take another seven to get him back.

i need someone.
i need someone so bad.
i need a friend,
i need somebody who will let me tear down this bad boy wall of mine and let me sob like a blubbering baby in front of them,
and i need someone to tell me everything is going to be okay
because I DON'T NEED A BIRD TO TELL ME MY LIFE IS WORTH LIVING.

this is not a poem.
this is an epilogue.
fin.