i am a small bumble bee
flying through the sky,
springing about
and basking in the sun,
the flowers are my safe space
and i become drunk on pollen,
this fast paced world slows
and comes to a stop,
in my frivolity
i have forgotten that i am alone
but there are more flowers that surround me.

Why is all the world light, and I am small underneath?
Just a black bottom under this apple tree?
Why am I in the limelight, the foreground?
The light pours no citrus drink, but a cyanide fruit pit pound!

The over-saturated curtains tail my frail feet.
Much busier than a yellow-black bee, bumping till its stinger gets caught in a fabric hemming
and it dies with no one noticing.
The girl who reads, the tree that sifts its rotten leaves;
they care less, less for a discoloration that unfortunately eats at me.

Even when the elders waltz the foxtrot dance so that even my dwarf legs can follow suit,
I will never be quite slow, or fast enough? for all of you.
I disintegrate daily into almost nothing.
I stare, but no one stares at me.

Oh, haven’t I written a piece about shadows and light?
What’s with me! I use the same machine work!
Metaphors, imageries, diction, diction mutating to a deeper fiction. Unoriginal it is!
The masses cling onto clichès with their pointed teeth;
why can’t I, I lodge into that all-inclusion?
Why do I repeat my own themes? Have I never learned critical thinking?
I depend on repetition: same old, same old (did I mention the old ‘same’?)
thing to grasp any new concept!

Maladaptive daydreamer
who cannot conjure up any ink
of fresh difference! What purpose do I hold
in this awful, spineless world?
I am too awfully, awfully simple and dumb
to succeed in any other playing field!
Reality, what foreign entity is she?
Maybe a solemn quiet would do it for me.
(So maybe I’ll have an extended vacation,
and revisit my only talent some other day.)

What do the (sappy) honey-loving poets write on?
The (sawdust) stardust in eye pupils, and
igniting our hearts alight (till it guzzles that red stream and we become only such, and the carpet gets a free dye job).
Apparently, everything pure and worthy is atomized into
(carbolic soap I allow carbonation of its soda acid in my eyes) diamonds.

On the subject of atomic level substances,
let's rehearse the Compton effect:
Heat me up to a hundred keV
like cheap microwave dinner, so that I propel—
whoosh!— tink against metallic beings
till I decrease, and I am powerless.
Each new orbit of opportunity I seize,
I result with less, and the opportunity snatches from me.
Glistening shoe shiner whose price tag appeals to the average Joe,
then I swipe: scuffing up my rounded toe.

She tattooed those other girls’ arrow on herself because:
“I’m pulled back to soar farther,”
yet this stretching has lasted for… months?
Compare this not to a crossbow, but to that of a
medieval rack, that gruesome torture device!
My tissue is tearing asunder, but this is polar from breaking bread!
I ache, I ache, I ache! Isn’t yoga supposed to tranquilize you to a grounded state, not death?

Why is the world so light when I am so heavy?
Why must I “lust for a life” that lusts not for me?

Divine is the wilderness
Pristine in it's dancing stillness
Breeze echoing through leaves
Trees stretch up to kiss the open air

Embracing, waving hello to you and to me
To the clouds, the birds, the butterflies and bees.

Stars, sun, and moon
Say hello and smile too

We are them, they are we. I am you, you are me.
Everything in everything; all branches of the same ancient and beautiful universal tree.

I think I've had enough of society, daydreaming from the inside of a ***** factory.
All those pretty lights, glistening and glowing; Turned stars to satellites, listening and knowing.
Humankind traded their souls for ego and every day it's f*cking showing

The wind will keep blowing, and the trees will keep waving.
Freedom and peace are everywhere, waiting.

I found a flying striper
It minded it’s own business
So I asked my mother what it was

She said it was a bee
And that they could be dangerous
But that they made honey
And that some people kept them

I saw in my head a farm
With nets built into cages
To hold all the stripes
And I wondered if I could get
Used to bees
And
In time
I did

Their stingers are sunk
Deep under my skin

Anticipating the split between two colonies
Honeybees swarm to protect their queen

Encircled by her children
The swarm become one nervous system
Moving to the sound of rhythmic beats

I swallowed the swarm
Now safe within my centerpiece
Inside my muscular comb
They found new cavities to live in

i waited for you to

deposit bumble bees down my

throat with your mouth

they will safely disarm their stingers

and bring them all to me in a square envelope

‘shake it’ i tell you

the stingers become the poem i wanted to write

a really lovely one that tells you you’re a campfire warming my nose

that you’re pretty


it isn’t all roses though

it feels thorny somehow

yeah, i say, ‘i meant to take those out’


my throat and limbs are

fuzzy i say

but you find this, contradictory