deepundergroundpoetry.com

Even Bees

Trading dignity for flowers.

All yellow, some green because they are unripened,
all at the same time.

Does no one think the bees are hurting?

No, not because of global warming or pesticides
but because they think they're ugly.

Their thoughts buzz around their heads too,
defacing their purpose and divination, depressing
them to the point that they stare back down at their
stingers again and think about pulling the plug.

Or will I take someone with me?

The flowers don't care, they wouldn't notice me.

When they're ripe and yellow I wont be here.

Why is my queen so uncaring? She is my mother and
mate until I die.

I just want to die. That's what the even smaller bees in my head
want too.

In a hushed voice, alone, with tears in black eyes I say to my queen -

"Dear, I do hope your crown never slouches, tilts, or falls flat off.
You look so darling in a crown...The reflection it shows is ugly though,
only when I stand there, my love. Only when I'm there."

My gift is the honeycomb.
Written by jadielue (Jade.)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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