Telling the Bees

I’m telling the bees about you

Though you aren’t dead, you’re dead enough

They hum and buzz in response as I tell them how you ended things

They understand how it stings and how it will stick and linger like honey on unwashed hands

They remind me of the bright flowers and warm sunshine that are still here to provide for us

They murmur of colors I cannot see but that are there- much like the benefits of this

I tell them and tell them, weeping over my bruised heart and ego, and tell them some more

They tell me this too shall pass.

They tell me to stay sweet but defend when necessary.

They tell me that the world is much larger than it feels right now and that there is beauty in everything.

I told the bees about you as people have done for centuries when someone dies-

You haven’t died, but you’re dead to me and the bees.

Standing Stone

I am not transient person
Not a willowy woman
Nor a candy floss girl
I am a standing stone
Steady and unmoving through sun and storm
More moss and weathered edges than flesh and bone
I have and will be here through the ghosts and wisps left by others
I am a trail blazer turned trail marker by those who take me for granted
Would they not be lost without me?
The frailty of egos may be the only thing more sure than me
Those that would consume me find me too unmanageable and move on
I am still as a standing stone
While everyone else gets to move on

Echoes of Beauty

I believed him when he called me beautiful

I believed it as much as I believe that the sky is blue and grass is green

He whispered it into my heart and I wish I had kept it for myself

But I whispered it back into his

I don’t believe I am beautiful

But when a beautiful boy tells me I am it sounds like an absolute

And I absolutely wish I could believe in that as much as he does

I wish the girl looking back at me from the silvered glass knew her worth without the echoes of someone else

I feel like I am hollow and filled with nothing but echoes

If I had any substance I could start to put down roots

Start to grow and prosper

Filling every branch of me with new leafs- new beliefs

I am beautiful

I am kind

I am smart

I am worthy

Of time

Of energy

Of reciprocation

Of love

I will fill myself with echoes until they come out of my own mouth as truths

Missing Me

I miss you
And not just the thought of you
But the way it felt to have my arm around you
And the way we could talk for hours about nothing but it always felt like something
And I miss the happy daydreams I had about you
Because in all of it, we were friends
And in some of it we were more
I wish I’d had more of you
But it’s ok that I didn’t
It’s ok that some of the gossamer dreams tangled me up
It’s ok that you were tangled up in someone else’s web
Dreaming about being tangled in someone else’s bed
It’s ok that you wouldn’t find them in me
You wouldn’t have been able to find them in me
I am all daydreams and four leaf clovers
All salt and acid and fire
All forehead kisses and play fighting
All chewed fingernails and tear stains
All sunshowers and acorn hats
There is no room for anyone in me but me
And I am finally ok with that
I miss you
But I missed myself more

I’ve put the ocean back between us-

Sent floods and tears into it to make it deeper and wider

Trying to fill the void while making it larger

My heart hurts and I wonder if you’ve caught yourself red handed after handling it-

Strawberry slick fingers slipping out of mine without so much as a breath

The distance between us spanning more than the waves between the coasts

No one has cast you as the villain here,

Natural disasters happen every day

So why does this feel so unnatural?

This hollowness shaped so much like you?

The fact that I flew across the world to see you wasn’t enough

Laying next to you after a day of mixed signals wasn’t enough

I wasn’t enough

You still wanted them

And that’s ok

It doesn’t have anything to do with me, and you didn’t want it to either

I’m sorry I was there

I’m sorry I made things hard and tiring

I’m sorry I let you hurt me by turning me into a looking glass

Salt

I hate feeling homesick in my own home

The security and comfort I had here was washed away in the deluge

The sun is out but it feels like it hasn’t stopped raining

I can’t tell the floods from my tears from the ocean

I want to swim back to England even knowing you won’t be there to greet me this time

Maybe that’s for the best

Maybe it’s the way things should have gone

Maybe then someone would have kissed me tenderly in the greenhouses at Kew

Maybe then someone would have walked on the curbside to keep me safe

Someone would have held my hand not snatched theirs away

The salt is a familiar taste now

Part armor, part amore

It dries and cracks on my skin

More sodium chloride than hydrogen dioxide

Less than 72% water

No more ocean, no more girl

Just a pillar of salt waiting to turn back to flesh

Tea: Bittersweet

There’s something reverent about sipping a cup of tea made for you by the man who broke your heart the night before.

Hot steam wafting across your face as you hold back tears because it’s not his fault that he doesn’t love you back.

Cream and sugar making it as bittersweet as the situation itself.

He’s a good man and he knows how you like your tea.

He didn’t know how desperate you were to be loved but that’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.

Although he might have mentioned it sooner

Might’ve let you sleep in a separate bed so you knew where the boundaries were

Before you reached out for him

Before you made a fool of yourself

Pining over someone you knew in the dregs of your soul you could never have

There’s no point in reading the leaves at the bottom of the murk, you know what they say.

Holiday Blues

I’ve been trying so hard not to fall in love with you

Stepping on the leaves of this feeling only to have the roots bury in deeper

I’m afraid that I’ll crush this crush too quickly and it will grow like the weed it is- unbothered by the weight of my heavy heart and cold feet

I’m worried I’ll step off the plane to see you in every way I’d dreamt about

And we just won’t fit together like the puzzle pieces I wish we were

I’ve been trying so hard not to fall in love with you

Stepping out of the way of this oncoming train seconds before it hits

Only to have the swoosh of air pull me back on to the tracks for the next one

I’m afraid of what would happen if I let it hit- that you’ll see the curve of my mouth everytime my phone chimes

I’m worried I’ll step on to the tube with you and never want to come back

And we just won’t fit together like a basket of fish and chips

I’ve been trying so hard not to fall in love with you

Because I know I’ll start writing shitty poetry again if I do

Weathering the Plague

This is a time of unease

Normal is shifting like sand under our feet

You cannot overcompensate for unstable footing

It only creates more imbalance

I know not what to do

I do not believe what is before me

I refuse to believe that this is changing for the better

We mask ourselves with protections that make us less cautious

Caution is all we have now

We have no tithes, no faith, no firm foundation

How do we go from a cup overflowing to an empty tomb?

We are cross with our God

This feels old testament

It feels cruel and unnatural

But perhaps this is the rebirth

A renewal of life as it should be

Less reliance on the exterior forces

More stability from our God -internal

He gives us time to reflect, to create, to endure

He teaches us patience and the value of loss

We are given new priorities

It is our time to rise and care for the things outside ourselves

Our mission is to find our promised land

Our mission is to wait out the plague

To wade through the Red Sea

To listen to the burning bush as it whispers our new purpose

January

I hate how certain times of the year make me more vulnerable to memory.
How the chill of winter reminds me of the knife you twisted into my heart.
I keep thinking about the day I figured it out.
The anniversary is coming up soon.
Your anniversary is coming up soon.
It’s just another day.
I know it’s just another day but damn does that wound feel fresh this month.