An Angry Jar of Bees.

I hold here in my tired arms

an angry jar of bees.

Carrying it around with me,

I travel as I please.

I cannot set the jar down

Or let the bees go free,

For doing so would bring my loved ones

A painful sting of misery.

The bees have been livid for ages now,

Stuck inside this jar

Buzzing their wretched grievances

Heavy and sticky like tar.

You see, the bees come from inside me,

A hopeless void within.

They represent my fears and longings,

Disguised by deadly sins.

The secret they are keeping though,

If you look closely enough;

If you see past the sharp edges and venom,

Is that they hide a disguised love.

The bees know who have wronged me

Who helped me put up walls,

And encouraged me to bring out guards with crossbows

And set locks on every door and hall.

They know why I sleep with my door closed

And keep it locked at night.

The bees know who did this to me

And that it wasn't right.

All they seek is vengeance

For my shaken, weary soul,

To inflict the same pain on these people

Because no one should feel this way alone.

But I do not let them out anymore,

Not for the purpose they wish to fulfill.

I know what that feeling does to people,

So instead they first serve my will.

I set them on the table

As I write and sing and paint.

They love to see the bright colors,

And for a moment they forget their angst.

Red is their favorite color though,

They buzz loudly when it hits the page.

For it channels what I am feeling

And translates my own hidden rage.

So when I am at a level

Where I cannot keep myself calm

I take out their favorite color

And let them sing their song.

After a while they settle,

And I decide to let them bee.

They are free to do what bees do best;

Make sweet, golden honey.

So now I give out jars of sweet amber,

Everywhere I go

Leaving behind sticky-sweet smiles

And sunshine for when it gets cold.

-a. b.