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Sep 2018 · 13.8k
moonlight lover
Bee Sep 2018
she was the moon
radiating the night sky
and dancing among the stars

you were the darkness
the shadow that waxed and waned
through the phases of her life

she grew to believe
that your presence
is what made her whole

but like the full moon
she shone brightest
without you

Bee Sep 2018
they told her
“your poetry
is hidden within”

so she took her pen
carved into her wrists
and watched the cherry red words
bleed out

Bee Aug 2018
i was alone
within a crowded room
when it came for me
i could feel it lurking
amongst the deadened souls
and its amber eyes
disguised themselves as comfort
to pierce through my flesh

its hands looked like yours
but embraced my neck
and as they tightened their grasp
its talon fingers
reached towards my flooding eyes
and traced a path down my cheek
carving skin in the pattern of a waterfall

it fastened chains
around my chest
and invisible serpents
slithered their way into my lungs
their vile breath
stealing the air within them

and as my nails began to dig
to hide from the monster
buried beneath my skin
the indolent world around me
gave no second glance
for my screams were silent

Aug 2018 · 356
dripping words from bottles
Bee Aug 2018
she asked him
'why is it
that i have yet to know a poet
who doesn't hold a bottle
the same way he holds his pen'

he replied simply
a poet's hands are weary
so he must find some way
to ease the weight of his words'

Jul 2018 · 3.2k
lust for life, taste death
Bee Jul 2018
let us fill our lungs
with corruptive smoke
and descend into delirium
so we may appreciate the moments
when our breaths consist
of purely air

let us drown our stomachs with poison
so we may savor the potent mix
of acid and alcohol
searing our throats
and numbing our skin

let us sink our teeth
into the ripe flesh
of the forbidden fruit
and swallow the pit
while we´re at it

let us drink to forget
and kiss like careless strangers
as we bury ourselves under bodies
so we may feel something other
than the weight of the world

let us dance beneath a storm
not of rain
but of blood spilling out
of open wrists
with mouths gaping
and hearts shattered

let us relish these blurred eyes
and hazy memories
as our hands touch
but do not meet
let us hold each other too tight
skin bleeding into skin
nail marks freckling your back

i can no longer hear the music
so let us sing our beautiful lies
take my hand
and let us run through grayed streets
with reckless abandon
and as we go
we can pick the roses
allowing their thorns
to imprint new scars
between our fingertips

let us tear the feathers
from a white dove
so we may weave ourselves
wings to fly
to touch the sun
and steal icarus´ name

let us ignore our ambitions
and explore extremes together
let us shatter our expectations
and as two beings collide
let us breathe each other in
and indulge as if it were
our last moment on earth

let us taste death together

Jul 2018 · 637
to love a poet
Bee Jul 2018
to love a poet
is to know immortality
for your name
will never cease
to flow from her lips

and she will forever hold
her pen gently
for her hands are scarred
with remnants of you
Jul 2018 · 1.2k
the paradox of orbitals
Bee Jul 2018
she whispers poetic metaphors
comprised of beautiful words
into thirsty ears
and watches as hungry eyes
become enveloped with stars
as they imagine the beauty
of her love

she tells them
¨he is the earth
and i am his moon
orbiting around him¨
orbiting for him

you see
an orbital´s path
is not paved by love
for she often asks herself
if she was really in love at all
or was it simply
his proximity
which so forcefully
pulled her in

for closeness
is what tore the moon
from her own established path
amongst the stars
when she encountered
the inescapable gravity
of another celestial body

the moon
diminutive and frail
in comparison
had no choice
but to succumb to the earth´s captivation
and redirect her path
to assume a new orbit
around a new focus

instead of progressing forward
she now knows nothing
but the same hideous loop
and like a scratched record
it repeats itself
         and over
                           and over
                                            and over

and every taste of freedom
simply brings her careening even quicker
around the next corner
until she becomes
all too familiar
with the same series of events

so she convinces herself
she's fallen in love
then that she's fallen
back out of it again
she hasn't really fallen anywhere
her mind simply adapts
a new narration
for the same spiral storyline

she never really loved him
for while they were close
momentum prevented their hearts
from ever truly touching
(for if the moon and the earth
drifted too close
they would collide)
and she will never know
now that she has become entranced
by a new planetary orbit

and as she tells the story
of how the moon
fell for the earth
the paradox of orbitals
was the perfect disguise
for her sinister love

why is it so much harder to fall out of love, than it is to fall in it?
Jul 2018 · 307
to drown in poetry
Bee Jul 2018
my mouth is filled up with words
that my hands can't translate

...and i'm choking

with so many words, how will i ever find the right ones to spill into these poems? why is there such a disconnect between the metaphors and messages spinning through my mind, and how my hands transcribe them onto paper? they'll never be perfect. i'm simply drowning in poetry...
Jul 2018 · 3.1k
Bee Jul 2018
how lonely must one be
for the warm embrace
of tears flooding your eyes be considered comfort now

osamělost: the czech translation of the word ¨loneliness¨
Bee Jul 2018
she had always said
her favorite color was yellow
for the girl with buttery skin and crystal eyes
it seemed rather fitting
yellow was the color of sunshine
and the color of her hair
after it had been bleached by summer
it was the color of the bumblebees
that drank from her favorite flowers
flowers that now
line her grave

she told you
her favorite color was yellow
because she knew you needed someone
radiant with light
to ease the depth
of your own darkness
so she said
when autumn arrived
you could watch the ground
become littered with yellow leaves

when you asked what color
lie beneath her skin
she told you it was yellow
she made herself believe
her body was freckled from stardust
and not from the amber glow
of cigarette burns
she still said
her favorite color was yellow
so she could continue being the light
in your colorless world

soon enough
your favorite color was yellow too
but not for the same reasons
she fell in love with it
you only saw yellow vaguely
in the form of teeth
stained from tobacco and too much coffee
smiling grimly through cracked lips
dripping poisoned honey
you guilded the word ¨love¨
with muted ochre lies

and now
she no longer feels the warmth
that once emanated
from her favorite color
she no longer tastes
the sweetness of butterscotch
and papaya on your lips
for you left her with nothing but
the sour residue of lemons and bile
as your gentle breath
extinguished her golden flames
and reduced her heart to ash

and now
she realizes that bumblebees
can also administer a piercing sting
and as she watches the sunset
with its amber hues
she no longer sees
the color yellow

Jun 2018 · 1.3k
dead roses
Bee Jun 2018
dear girl, do not tire your eyes
weeping over dead roses

for sunlight emanates
from your weathered skin

and it is simply a matter of time
    till your garden blossoms again

no amount of tears poured over the soil
will revive dead roses
Bee Jun 2018
and now
i will sever the strings
that once tethered us together
with the pieces of me
that you shattered

i will forge a divide between us
deep enough to swallow
my hearts temptations
for i am eve
and you are my vice

i will tear apart continents
and demarcate the soil that stands between
our now sovereign feet
if it means the storms you contrive
will no longer wash away
the delicate foundations of myself

i am learning how
to escape the darkness
that once held me hostage

i am learning that
the deadened highs
from the mephitic lies
you breathed into my lungs
arent worth the crushing suffocation
that shadowed

i am learning to accept
that the loneliness that keeps me company
in your absence
is not evident of weakness
but the result of me instilling faith
back into my own two feet

and an assertion of the strength i have
to live on my own

Jun 2018 · 564
Bee Jun 2018
was purely a four-letter concept with you

you made hours alone
discussing the universe and its secrets
feel like fleeting minutes

a year passed by
in an ephemeral glance

reality completely deliquesced
with the touch of your lips
and your love was marked as transitory

                                                     ­  ...but those eyes were infinite

ephemerality is the concept of things being transitory, existing only briefly. because different people may value the passage of time differently, "the concept of ephemerality is a relative one"
Jun 2018 · 219
the poetry tree
Bee Jun 2018
lone bees
plagued by anguish and despair
survive off the nectar
from the poetry tree

the flowers kiss
their feeble wings
and provide just enough energy
to endure

                 one more day

lonely bees drink from the poetry tree
Jun 2018 · 329
Bee Jun 2018
some might say i'm a *******
because i kept letting myself get hurt
but it's not that i loved the pain

i just really loved you

Jun 2018 · 439
the eminence of words
Bee Jun 2018
isn't it funny
how i write more poetry when i’m around you?

i never understood
why poets held such eminence in words
until my heart was awakened by the breath of your presence

words, inherently, don’t carry much meaning
mere symbols inked onto a page
their fables derived from ingrained aphorisms

but the heart doesn’t follow these rules
she sees color differently
vivid and auroral

and she does not simply view words with guileless eyes
she lives them

you helped me understand the eminence of words
Jun 2018 · 213
to write in the rain
Bee Jun 2018
you make me want to write in the rain
to see beads of water blur the ink on my page
drowning my words and silencing my lips

you make me want to dance through a storm
to feel those cold droplets engulf my skin

                                                                         and cleanse me of you.

Jun 2018 · 255
Bee Jun 2018
she looked at him as if the universe was sprawled on his skin
her eyes engulfing every inch

as they drove through the summer
she always took the passenger seat
because she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus her eyes on the road
and away from him

while she had mastered the art of evading most eye contact
her gaze felt broken if it wasn’t locked onto his
and even under the moonlight
she knew his every detail

she was an observer, a watcher
silently studying everything around her
but her view of the world narrowed when she was with him

he was her world
she could draw a map of the stars in his eyes and the roads of his lips
but couldn’t tell you the color of the car he drove her in

she looked at him as if it were the last time she would ever see him
                                                            he looked out the window

¨onsra¨: from the Boro language of India, a word that describes the bittersweet feeling of knowing a love won't last // to love for the last time.
Jun 2018 · 243
to fall in love with a bird
Bee Jun 2018
no one ever told me
not to fall in love with a bird
for their wings are made of capricious feathers
and their heart is forever flighty

capricious (adjective): given to sudden and unaccountable changes of mood or behavior
Jun 2018 · 352
confessions of an addict
Bee Jun 2018
i used to love being alone
until i tasted you

being with you was like a drug that i just couldn’t get enough of
your breath filled my lungs with toxic smoke
an exhilarating rush with each hit
i became high off your scent
and drunk off the poison from your lips
your touch showered me in chemical intoxication
so strong that i forgot what it felt like to be sober

i was utterly helpless within your grasp
but, for once, i liked the feeling of letting go
i never realized how much my soul craved your presence
until it was time to give you up
but by then, the withdrawals had already kicked in

forgetting you meant that i had to cough out my own lungs
choking on the remnants of your breath
you had constricted my throat so tightly that i couldn't fathom breathing on my own
i forced my stomach to lurch and convulse in desperate attempts to rid my body of any trace of you
but in the process
i lost some of myself too

in the aftermath, there was nothing left but hollow ruins
my delicate body now wrecked with scars
leaving my entire being sore
trembling, and weak
so to heal the pain
i come back
because the drug was irresistible
i forget about the force it took to evict you from my lungs
because it’s easier to get lost in those dark abysmal eyes
eyes that swallowed me whole
and the softness of your touch was enough
to numb my aching body

but you'll never know what it feels like
because you’ve taken so many hits now, that you're immune to the highs
to you, I was simply one more drink to pass the time

Jun 2018 · 1.9k
the poison in her veins
Bee Jun 2018
To this day,
She can still feel the poison in her veins.
It may only be a ghost
But the reminiscence of her past still harbor the same violent sting
Constantly reminding her
Of when her life changed forever
And what she’s become.

To this day,
She hauls vivid memories wherever she goes.
Memories only allowed to appear
Because of one choice,
That wasn’t even her own.
“Don’t worry,” she was told.
“This will make everything better,” she heard.
Lie after lie, spat right in her face.
The harm they caused wasn’t intentional, she knew.
Trauma that manifested through a veiled attempt to heal.
But by ignoring her desperate pleads,
“Please don’t make me go,”
They were to blame for her suffering.

The girl knew she was a hopeless cause.
Even the most skilled doctors could not help her.
She was too far broken.
Only a few delicate threads held her together,
Stitching up the pain she endured for countless years.
The girl would have been happy to leave them undisturbed,
If she had known what misery lied ahead.

The hospital room may as well be a prison cell
And the doctors the executioners.
Fear was the first form of torture laid upon her.
The girl’s worst nightmare crept its way up from the abyss that was her mind.
This was the thing that would cure her?
An evil, crooked, nasty beast was her savior?
And she had to somehow trust it with her life?

The pungent smell of the first swipe of alcohol across her skin
Followed by the guileful ***** of a needle.
A plastic tube nestled in her arm
Would be the girl’s only companion for the next few days.
It too, promised her relief,
But only offered agony.

Then came the venom.
Empty promises fed throughout her body.
Miracle cures for all her ailments.
But no matter how the doctors dressed them up,
She could feel their truth.
Poison filled the girl’s delicate body,
And she could not escape their wrath.

Excruciating pain, radiating all throughout her body.
Her head was dizzy,
Vision blurred,
Muscles weak,
Lungs constricted,
Stomach lurching,
Throat burning,
She could not have imagined something worse.
Over and over again,
More and more drugs were pumped through her IV.
She almost forgot about the pain they were trying to treat.
A battle was waging through her veins.
Eventually, one of these chemicals would cure her,

Days felt like years.
An eternity spent inside of the hospital.
Till the young girl could fight no longer.
She wanted to scream until her throat burst.
It wasn’t fair.
She was so young,
Too young to be tortured against her will.

She spat lies right back at the doctors.
“I feel better” was written on a white flag.
But the war was not over.
No, scars were not only etched into her body,
But her entire world had suffered the consequences of battle.
And she could only watch as it crumbled away.

The pain left her debilitated
Unable to function.
For the first time in her short life,
Her perfection slipped away.
She was forced to abandon activities she once loved,
Neglecting friends that counted on her.
The eyes of her peers were filled with disgust,
They only saw her as sick.

Confined to her bed for most days
The girl was utterly alone
With only her pain as her only friend.
When asked how she’s doing,
She couldn’t help but utter,
It was easier than describing what she’d been through,
Impossible for others to understand.
She was completely alone.
Her suffering was disregarded,
Everyone was going through something worse it seemed.
She knew they expected her to be strong enough
To fight the battle in solitude.

Then came the anger.
A vicious spirit clawing at her sanity.
It almost felt like a dream.
This situation was inequitable,
What had she done to deserve such suffering?
She had spent her entire life helping others,
Offering her wisdom
While tending to her own ailments.
Now, suggestions were being forced down her throat.
Try this, try that.
As if they knew what was best for her.
How dare they.

The girl felt her life crumble away,
Like sand falling right through her fingertips.
Her heart ached of desperation.
She wore a fake smile most days,
And did her best to keep up with life,
Hoping for anything that might rescue her from pain.
Even if it meant death.

And to this day, she can still feel the poison in her veins.
She knows that the sting may never dissipate.
A vile reminder of pain she was forced to endure.
Leaving invisible battle scars,
And a prayer that one day,
She might be free.
this was my first endeavor into the world of poetry -- a description of the most vivid memory of my young life.

— The End —