the beekeeper.

sensitivity.

i know i am supposed to be strong.
i tell myself this daily, hourly.
i am the snarling red boy,
the epitome of damnation,
the harborer of rage.

but i am so easily wounded.
mosquito bites expand into saucer-sized boils.
i tried to ignore them at the beginning,
and it caused them to fester into large sores.
i should've addressed it when it first became an issue,
but i am terrified, perpetually, of offending the insects.
yes dear, i love your gifts to me.
they're just lovely.

buzzing in my ear,
you ask of me if i am okay only after i start to wear layers to cover up those nasty welts.
yes dear, yes dear, yes dear.
i am alright.

but when i finally go inside and start to undress,
the bites begin to itch and ooze.
i can't touch them though.
i can't let you know i hate what is happening to me.
even if you're drawing blood from me,
your company is so sweet.

don't worry, darling.
i am alright.
i'll cry about how badly my body hurts and how uncomfortable i feel in my skin,
and i will wake up to repeat the same life i have been leading.
all to quell the masses.
all to let you sleep.