worker me

Honey, I’m back home in the hive!

though I admit I have no gift

for the queen

 

I’ve been hunting for the reproductive organs

of mother earth with which to polenate

my worker-bee spirit

 

I tasted, selfishly, the sweet nectar of fire,

the syrup of silence, and

freedom’s flower

 

Returning to the hive was always my intention,

but I have to play tricks on history

and dance forward in time

 

And now I’m back in the land of the drones,

physically present, socially distant, feeling

the collective buzz

 

My wings tired, covered in the scum of experience,

I comb through dreams of embellishing my

honey nest and growing pollen of my own

right here, so that leaving is

not such a damned

necessity

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