My Brain is Bees

My Brain is Bees

When I was young, I used to run through pebbled gardens with plants bigger than me.

Back then my soul was butterflies that I could catch on lavender branches.

Now my brain is bees, my heart their hive.

They rarely rest, and instead buzz between park pistils, which reach for the sun, but stare at smog, which obstructs the source that fuels the flowers that feed my bees – ACHOO!

Pollen sometimes makes me sneeze, but I stay outside until the day fades.

Not all the bees find the hive in time.

The lost stay awake, and recklessly peruse the petals of my mind.

They bump, bumble and mumble where they don’t need to be.

That’s when I swat them. When I need sleep, and peace.

My brain can be bees. Together they do amazing things.

But they need to be still now, instead of stinging back.

I don’t want them to die.

I wish they got along better with butterflies.