The Drowning Bee
I once stuck my hand into a kiddie pool to save a drowning bee.
It’s black and yellow fur was waterlogged, legs kicking frantically.
It was trying desperately to breathe.
I saw it’s pain and plunged into the water.
I thought that it would see my intentions.
Not much smaller than my hand, it wrestled into my palm.
I pulled it from the water, wet and frantic, and it surged its stinger deep inside my flesh.
I cried.
Sometimes I am still that little girl, plunging in after those who are drowning.
It is hard to breathe when life is so exhausting.
I can see their legs thrashing, faces contorted as they slip beneath the surface.
I forget that they may pull me under.
The bee will sting upon the saving of its life.
The ripping of its stinger means certain death, but it will still attack.
We are no different.
It is easiest to hurt the ones who are closest.
The water feels no pain as its pressure consumes us.
We sting the delicate flesh, so innocent in its approach, because we are afraid.
The Man Who Is A Rabbit
Just because your hands are calloused does not make you a hard worker.
The roughness does not hold meaning, depicting tales of glory, or battle, or righteousness.
You are weak, and small, and nothing. You are neither friend nor foe.
You would rather bear a trophy than your soul, calculating your self-worth on the opinions of others.
You are a game-hunter, shooting lions trapped in pens. In the jungle you become all but prey, naked and alone.
You are not a man but a rabbit. You cannot think for yourself, always running and hiding. The only words you spew hold little meaning.
Your fur is shiny and beautiful but your presence short-lived. There are many like you and you shall flock together, desperate to define yourselves with worthless causes.
You shall run freely, unaware of the predator behind you, always afraid of what could be. Your own weakness shall destroy you.
I’ve Got This
Hey don’t worry, I’ve got this.
I’ve got this disapproval.
Just let me go it alone and you’ll see. I can handle anything.
It doesn’t matter what anyone says.
I don’t need friends and I don’t need anyone. I want no one.
Don’t worry, I’ve got this silence.
Through the lectures and the looks, I can see you smiling.
And that’s all that matters.
I will take them. I will stand here, drunk and awkward, and I will listen.
Don’t worry, I’ve got this avoidance.
Spilling out the words you say to everyone.
Finally realizing.
I don’t need you and I don’t need anyone.
Don’t worry, I’ve got this self-loathing.
I will lie in the bed that we both made.
Keep pretending it’s not there.
In the extra space I may finally be cleansed.
Don’t worry, I’ve got this guilt.
You can brush it off and so can I.
That sensitive spot is scabbing over.
Breaking down and crying in front of everyone.
Don’t worry, I’ve got this.
Back-handed compliments laden with intentions.
Cold, hard stares.
Friends that turn on me as though I am the enemy.
Don’t worry, I swear I’ve got this.
