I used to envy the bees.
Until I watched their tiny wings
carrying so much responsibility.
Their heavy bodies barely kept aloft
as they fulfill their life purpose, dutifully
like miniature striped soldiers
with pollen on their knees.
Maybe the bees are sad
To carry so much
as they watch the world implode.
Maybe all they want is freedom
and to watch the flowers grow.
And if they close their eyes
can they feel the flowers die,
despite their efforts, wondering,
how is this a life?
And even now,
as they forge ahead,
just trying to live life,
they notice it’s all changing
and it’s adding to their strife
all they ever asked for was flower
but now the seed won’t even sprout
and now I wonder if the bees,
like me, are getting ready to shout.
I feel it all around me,
I smell it when I close my eyes.
A cyclical death, like morning breath
and the stink of rotten minds.
They chew us up and spit us out
and pick us from their teeth.
Only later they will figure out
it was us they needed to please.
So here I am, a lowly woman
identifying with the bees
wondering what it will take
to bring these men to their knees
And bees don’t care for politics
or reproductive rights
but just like many people,
they’ve been losing all their lives.
The bees are bees, and I am me
and still we bumble on.
Batting away the greasy hands,
with stingers out until we’re dead and gone
so feel the sting like bees can bring
As we fight for what is ours
I hope someday we all have the freedom
To just enjoy the flowers.
About the Creator
Mariah Blodgett
Mariah Blodgett is a neurospicy, self-proclaimed Jane of all trades, graphic designer, artist and full time-mom moonlighting as a creative writer with a penchant for fantasy, romance, poetry and character driven story arcs. Enjoy!
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