the beekeeper.

everyone's nothing; no one's everything.

i think the hardest pill i've ever had to swallow
was the fact that everyone is someone's most important something,
but i am nothing.
(try saying that five times fast.)
i would if i could,
but i can't speak.
i mean, i can speak of course
but what's the purpose if everyone's ears are plugged with wax
leaking from candles accidentally shoved off coffee tables?

the more i think about it,
the deeper i sink into this pile of compost,
of decay,
of death.
it reeks of abandonment and unimportance.

but i still think about it.

my mother puts herself and her fiancé first.
my father sees nothing but a red-headed woman now.
my best friend has verbally affirmed that her boyfriend is more important than i.
my siblings don't even know my real name, let alone love me.
my love interest only acknowledges my bitter existence when he's horny.

everyone is someone's most important something,
but i am fucking nothing.

i meant it when i said it.
i am the compost i rot in.
i am the scraps,
the biodegradable garbage tossed into the corner of the yard.

i will never be anyone's everything,
and that makes my everything mean absolutely nothing,
because if you aren't somebody's everything and you are everybody's nothing,
are you anything?
am i anything?

until someone whispers in my ear,
"you mean the world to me.
you are my everything."
i will continue to decay,
to rot,
to decompose in the backyard,
putrid and peeling from the harsh heat of the arkansas summer.