Day Thirteen and Day Fourteen.

14 Apr


Have at it with your paper world,
cutting out your dolls and lining them
up in your convoluted rows.

I wanted to be one of the dolls,
I swear I did,
because you made me feel as if
my brand was special.

Apparently, you lured me into
your world only to punish me
for coming inside.

And so, dearest, I watch at the window-

you dancing with your silly dolls,
me, finally satisfied with my real, beating heart,
knowing that, in the end,
paper burns.


I’d like to think I was your favorite bee.

The other ones didn’t truly care for you,
seeing you only as a source, as a place to feed.
Do you remember me?
Swaying off to the side,
dizzy with hunger
yet waiting, respectful, quiet?

Their intoxication was so shameful,
wasn’t it?
There comes a point when
instinct is no longer an excuse,
when you have been programmed to do
should be trumped by good, proper habits.

And so while they fed,
like mongrels, really,
I waited for an invitation, growing weaker,
withering away. It doesn’t matter that
you extended it to all of us, that you drew us to you.
I wanted something personal and real.

It never came, but I’m sure you meant well.

I’d like to think I was your favorite bee.


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