I have a stuffed bee called buzzed.
Buzzed.
Buzzed, like my head
Every time I come across as mad.
It took years and tears and teared skin
To become this clean.
This spilled agrimony turned to false testimony.
You can attest to my power,
Anyone can glower from inside their tower.
But my cards have been dealt
And I feel devoured by this bee
That buzzes and buzzes and turns to me,
Embodying my anger
All up in my tower, while i search for my bower.
This bee that is violet and green
Like these bruises I keep, violent.
It was never about not bleeding
but still much needed.
If only it got stripped from my body
This ragged honey-drenched dressing
Covering eyes wide with the need
to know
How to finger-paint all this pain.
What's at stake?
But listen.
Listen.
The buzzing is near.
And nearer and nearer.
The bee just stands there at the edge of my bed.
Waiting for me to engage.
All this rage.
All. This. Rage.
Now this bee can shoot at close range.
Leaving my head buzzed once again
Reclaiming the violet, the green in my roots.
I grew astute,
I am absolute.
Im not stuffed like you, bee.
Im not stuffed like you.
Im not stuffed.
But indeed I am buzzed, bee.
I am buzzed,
Just like you.