I write poems of anger
Thoughts, frustrations
Joy and fear
As a means of putting out
The words that come and swarm in

My head like bees

In migration.
They don’t understand
However that these thoughts
Are fleeting moments
That I cling to desperately
In search of paper
To give it a home.
So that it’s not forgotten
In the chaos of eternity.

But you, sit there with
Eyes flickering by each word
In a desperate search for meaning
Formulating ideas and impressions
Of my cold writer.
And I’m here to tell you,
Leave her be.
Don’t use me as a means to
Hold the conversations that
Haven’t come into existence.
Making assumptions
To feel something that’s not there
Let the bees eat in peace
On the flower warmed
By the delicate dancing Sun.