Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                        A­ Bee Upon my Knee

                                  A Rhyme for Brave Children
                                     From a Whiny Grownup

A bee upon my knee
It hurt’ed me
It stung me with a sting
And died, poor thing

I really do love love,
But love does not love me.
I love his hands upon my skin,
Though bruised my skin will be.
I love his kisses on my head,
Without them I’m as good as dead.
I love love though it breaks me,
So why does love just hate me?

Hi,
How are ya?
I was just checking in,
Wanted to see how you,
Were holding up.
Ya know,
Without me.

Glad to hear you’re doing well,
How’s work been?
Oh, I told you that you’d get promoted!
That’s so awesome.
Me?
Yeah, I’m doing fine,
Ya know,
Living.

What’s wrong?
Oh…
You’ve been seeing someone?
Well,
That’s...
Great,
Truly great.
You deserve to be happy,
Ya know,
That’s all I ever wanted for you.

Of course I understand,
You need to know that,
I always cared,
I just…
Cared too much and,
Well you were there,
You know how it all,
Turned out.

Well anyway,
I’m glad to hear that,
you’re doing amazing.
I know I said this before,
But I just wanted to say,
Again,
That if you ever need,
Anything,
Just please feel free,
To reach out.

Okay,
Sounds good.
Take care.

Sometimes
I think about everywhere we've been, and the innumerable unreproducible moments

But then I remember quietly fighting about homeschooling in a Denny's

Sometimes
I feel like I'll never connect in the same way with another person

But then I remember that I am dramatic and each intimate connection is unique

Sometimes
I finally am finishing watching our last show that I just haven't had the breadth to pick back up again

And I remember the exact way in a specific moment of the show that you laughed
And how many times you laughed that same way through the years

And I feel pain,
deep in my heart

But then I remember,
pain never really fully leaves

When I planted those flowers
And grew them for you
I never thought of what you’d do
Perennials they were, with gorgeous hues
But you took them and cut them out of the blue
Stuck them in a vase for everyone to see
Watered them lightly until they wilted
And want faded away

Those flowers
To me
We’re me and you
The love that we grew
Cherished and knew
And at the first sign of beauty
You snatched them right up
New blossoms could not bloom
For you came in on cue

Withered and wrinkled
Discarded and dry
Colors all lost
Beauty long squashed
We were flowers in bloom
And we will bloom again
But the ugly remainder
Of what was and will be
Will always lay there

In the trash

Suppose, it is a toe,
one of your own,
hurting like hell,
as our culture defines acceptible
and unacceptible degrees of pain,

hurting like hell,
is always something we can live with,
once the pain goes away, hell itself
being only a feeling fit way
to speak of chronic pain,
same as, so what;
hurting like hell,
is always something we can live with,
until we die,
because there is no cause I can accuse, in good
cultured to send such pain
to remind a man that
time is passing and with that there
is always a good measure
of senseless pain we never mind,

until we take step, unmindful, of that toe.

You know it will burn,
but you bite it anyway,
because it tastes good.

"i love you !" i say as i tear myself open
with how much i still think you don't love me back like i do
what a clown i make,
what a sad excuse for a friend
not to tell you i was so insecure about us,
that i'd rather cry on the way home than in your house.
i won't apologize for feeling,
but i'm sorry for lying.

coming to the realization that if i could let myself die slowly, i would,
was the worst christmas present i could give myself.
there comes a moment where you are so miserable that you can't even pity your own **** self,
self hate is so stupid,
so time consuming and egotistical,
and yet i cant stop it. i can't shut it up.
i am an ugly child, and i
don't remember how to live like an adult
when the world around me crumbles and cannot hold me up
anymore.