Honeycomb Beehive

Their spines have become mine through the daze of understanding our world.

As the new found knowledge flipped me,

Limbs in places unnatural,

Eyes rolled back in the chaos of change,

I used the stitches within my books

To weave myself a safety net.

The ideas that swirled within my curls

(Bright beams of pollen hued naivety)

Blew away when gray matter turned to haystack whirlwinds.

With the felt tip edges of plastic and metal turned to pen

I built myself a tunnel of words where I could reach light that cleansed.

Where I could find a breeze that warmed and soothed.

When heartstrings shrank

to dried out twigs that could crack,

I pumped my blood with the ooze of my ink.

Invisible sweet stuff that conquered the slime,

It stretched my veins and inflated my cells.

From within I came out.

Raw and oozing onto the paper sheets of redemption.

I poured through like honey from a bottle,

Slowly,

then all at once.

Here, I became honeycomb bee hive

Full of life, I was home for the busy and light

My arteries the heart of the nest.

Grey matter turned yellow with hopes of pure might,

Skulls black mold was slowly cleansed.

My legs set firm and arms grew out wide,

I was charged with a power, possessed,

I made wings with the pages of my saviors.

I soared at the breeze of my words.

So I say,

To the journals that ooze with sweet honey,

And to the pens who’s ink I drank up,

My hands,

will always be sticky.

My soul,

is a sweet stuff filled cup