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Bees
Being young and queer is...
As romantic
As it is upsetting
There is a struggle,
One which really only I can understand
It feels romantic
To be who I am
To be young and to be queer
I am something unique
Something truly special
Romantic like a rare gemstone in a ring
It feels upsetting
To be how I am
Young and queer and deep in hiding
I am something that must be kept hidden
To protect myself
don't look back.
don't do this.
don't do that.
don't be you.
don't frown.
all things that flood my mind.
also words i've heard along the line.
i say them in attempt to hide
what's actually going on inside
you don't know what's happening in your daily life.
you wake up, almost robotically
doing what you have to
what you've always done.
you make mistakes.
but you're human.
another thing i'll tell myself.
A little bush
At the picnic place,
A little bush could talk to me.
I ran away
And hid myself,
And I found a bush that could talk to me,
A smooth little bush said a word to me.
When foxes eat the last gold grape,
And the last white antelope is killed,
I shall stop fighting and escape
Into a little house I'll build.
But first I'll shrink to fairy size,
With a whisper no one understands,
Making blind moons of all your eyes,
And muddy roads of all your hands.
And you may grope for me in vain
In hollows under the mangrove root,
Or where, in apple-scented rain,
The silver wasp-nests hang like fruit.