The Sting (explained)
He walks in.
He flies by.
Their golden hair
Moves through the sky.
He lands on
A flowered skirt.
He has on
A flowered shirt.
He buzzes on.
He chats about.
A worker's life,
The world around
A precious cargo.
He takes hold.
A heart that is
In his control.
He sinks in,
And so does he.
Something isn't
As it seems.
He's been tricked,
But he can feel
The difference when
It isn't real.
He is moved.
He is changed
When the currents
Rearrange.
Now he will leave,
And so will he.
Sun on wings,
And shoes on feet.
I won't see him.
He won't see me.
When I turn my
Head to scream.
Not the same,
But the thing
I hate is how
They share the sting.
Poetry Explained!
This poem is, if you can’t already tell, about the comparison between a bee and a man. When I started dating A, he wore these bright colored shirts all the time. He was almost known for them. He had one on at a park one day early in our relationship.
Something you must know about this man is that he is not expressive in any way in regard to his emotions. This led to some early relationship turmoil, especially when it came to becoming “official” or saying things like, “I love you.”
Another thing to note about A is that he refers to his interest in woman like he is a digital clock instead of an analog one. He describes his attraction as either a 1 or a 0. There is no in-between for him. The problem is, there is also no way of knowing which one you are.
Anyway, on this day in question, as he was wearing his usual bright colored shirt, a bee landed on him, likely confusing him for a flower. I realized, in this moment, that this bee and A were basically the same being. This bee also lives a life of things being a 1 or 0. Either this bee can get pollen, or it can’t. You either are a flower, or you’re not. If you’re not, the bee has no interest. In this moment, I felt as if A had no interest in me based on his lack of any romantic expression. I felt that A and this bee, with their golden hair and bright outfits, waking up just to work and eat, while ignoring frivolity, were basically the same. The bee realized the shirt wasn’t a flower, and he flew off. A would soon realize that the thing between us wasn’t a 1, and we would have the same fate. I felt that the sting the bee could provide in the case of being upset by the useless, bright orange shirt was similar to the sting I would feel at the words A was destined to say about us.
And that, my friends, is how The Sting came to be.
Thanks for reading!
The Window
I remember the way that your fingers once danced
On my leg as we talked about hair.
I looked out the window and stared,
Trying to hold down the air.
I took pictures to keep in my mind,
Thinking that was my last time there.
You didn't know, but I knew.
You don’t see it, but I do.
The Shift
He can tell
When the line
To cross is
Too close.
He can tell
When the tip
Of the first of
Her toes
Touches ground,
And it shakes,
Causing all the
Windows
To break, but
He holds up
The walls, if
He shows
Her that he
Sees, and he
Feels, and
He knows,
Then something
Must give, or
Someone
Must go.
If he
Can stop it
Before it
All blows,
He thinks that
Maybe the
Shift can
Be slowed,
But he knows.
No More
No more for you,
You’ve had your fill.
Your plate is piled
High.
I scooped and scooped
And watched the hill
Climb up toward the
Sky.
Soon, I could no longer
Reach my arm to
Place another
Drop.
I tried and tried and
Stretched, but I still
Could not reach the
Top.
If you decide that
You want more, well,
First you sure will have to
Eat
What is on your
Plate before I
Ever give you more of
Me.
Not Afraid
You're not afraid
Of my love.
You're not afraid
Of my heart.
You're not afraid
I'll give up.
You're not afraid
That we'll part.
You're not afraid
To be honest.
You're not afraid
To be real.
You're not afraid
To have lost it,
When that's not
How you feel.
You're not afraid
To be quiet
While you lay
On your side.
You're not afraid
That you'll leave,
And I'll lay
There and cry.
You're not afraid
That you'll go,
And I won't
Be alright.
I'm afraid
That you don’t know
That you should
Be terrified.
Emotions
Mad
When you say she tried to start another fight.
Sad
When you say that you tried to make it right.
Happy
That the memory is still within your sight.
Sorry
That the New York hookup didn't work that night.
Emotions
Turning on like they walked in and flipped the light.
Mad
That I don’t have that power in me to ignite
Feelings
From a man I want to think I'm worth the fight.
Sad
To think I'd have to leave before he ever might.
It Hurts: Where The Poetry Began
It all begins with an idea.
Alright, here’s the real reason I’m writing this blog. I write poetry. I use it to express myself and to work through my own feelings. Over the past year, I have written 100+ poems on heartbreak, love, loss, regret, and the ride between one relationship to the next. I plan on posting these poems, but I needed to work through and express some of my own thoughts that lead to these chaotic feelings first. Now that you have a glimpse, here comes the whole story. Well, the story is still being written, but what I have of it so far is yours for the taking. Since this is a story told through poetry, there’s a lot of guess work to be done to fully understand how we got here. I give you full creative freedom to fill in the gaps with what makes sense to you, or what relates to your life. I’m sure you won’t be far off.
Where it began:
This poem I am about to share is one that I wrote wayyyy back in the original 8 year relationship that got us to this blog. This was year 6 or so. My ex and I hit a rough patch. We split for a small period of time, but even after getting back together, I discovered that he had met and began talking to a new girl in our time apart. That would be fine, except he kept it going even as he was begging me to make our relationship work. She came over one night (because they did some music together), and when I checked our living room cameras to see what they were up to, I saw her shoes and purse, but no people. They were in another room, presumably the bedroom. I wrote this poem right then and there. This is the beginning. This is where the breakdown began. Enjoy.
It Hurts
I see her shoes. I see her purse.
I don’t see you. I don’t see her.
The living room camera works,
But the room I can’t see hurts.
I sit, and I wonder if I did this all on my own.
Did it help that I know
How you felt about her?
Did you fall from my words?
Did you leap from my hand
And land there in hers?
I’m sitting, and hurting,
Staring at work at my phone
Where it seems no one’s home,
But I know, and you know,
And it hurts.
I curse at myself
For how bad it felt
To give you away,
Like the start of a day,
Where I sleep in ‘till noon,
Like a morning that’s used
For nothing.
Now I
Wake up early
And try
Not to hurt.