Bee Stings

Welp, I’m stuck, you guys. My 2022 goal was to write 1 blog post per month. Easy peasy, right? I thought so too. But now my Google Drive is filled with a dozen half-written posts—a mixture of scrambled thoughts, ridiculous and real-life stories, and heavy questions.

The problem isn’t that I don’t know what to say. It’s that I have a lot to say, and I don’t know which thoughts I want to stand behind. At least not yet.

So for this month’s post, I’m resurrecting an old poem of mine for the sake of spring. I hope you enjoy it. And hopefully by next month, I’ll have untangled and tamed my words into something worth posting.

Bee Stings

Attacks like bee stings
quick bites, sharp stabs, silent and searing.
eyes welling with quiet gasps for breath
as sweet memories dance behind my eyelids.

I squint to stop the dreams between my lashes
but they’ve already begun scratching their way into my soul.
squint harder
and stop this fleeting bleeding

make these monsters disappear—
their silent silhouettes,
perfect portraits of a picture-framed life
movements now flawless and floating
serenading, warm and cascading
their smiles crisp and glowing
over-flowing with dreams and pockets and spaces
of the life I always wanted

Short, deceptive stabs suffocating my skin
dry-heaving on broken words and promises
as shame leaks from my eyes and heartbreak falls from my lips
until there is nothing left in this hollow body
but the shell of throbbing dreams
that buzz by like bee stings.