poetry

honey

honey,

I say,

is the only food

that will never

spoil.

they watch me

with no comprehension

and the bee moves

gently

along his fingers

in the afternoon

sun.

they do not understand

why this matters;

he tries to hand

the bee to me

but I flinch from

his outstretched palm–

too many strikes

 

from palms

of glass and

empty promises,

holding false gifts

that glint in

faded light.

we continue on

but honey

will never spoil

and my memories

someday

will.

poetry

sorry.

“how’ve you been?”

i don’t really know.

sorry.

“are you doing okay?”

no.

sorry.

“what’ve you been up to?”

worrying, picking my skin,

wishing i were dead,

skipping meals.

sorry.

“are you good?”

not really;

i’m generally a

pretty shitty

person.

sorry.

sorry that i couldn’t be

fine

and that i’m an inconvenience

and a burden.

i just want to

be alright and

instead i’m shutting down.

don’t ask me how i am

because i can’t lie

right now.