I am filled with bees. Millions of tiny, furry creatures that crawl and flit beneath my skin. I can feel them wriggling in my wrists, new larvae to replace the old and dying in my belly. Their buzz lies heavy in my throat.
We are at odds. I do not speak their language; though, I have tried. The beating of their wings steals the breath out from my lungs and my heavy body keeps them from flight. They sting at my insides in frustration as they yearn for the roses and daisies just past the windows of my eyes. I cannot eat the petals fast enough to satiate their desires, choking needlessly on floral decay while they cry out trapped in a fleshy prison.
How I long for a bee charmer. One who speaks their language to put them at ease when I am unable. Someone to dance with them and quiet the incessant droning which fills my ears. Let the bee charmer coax them from my body, and leave only honeycomb behind.
About the Creator
I like to put pieces of myself into my writing. Sometimes it's a finger, sometimes a toe, but it's always something that gets stuck to the roof of your mouth and leaves a lingering feel in your gut.