Bee Sting

 I was just seven years old when I was stung 

by all those bees in the rose bush 

on the side of the house and 

you thought I was laughing but I was crying 

and I sat up on the big freezer 

while you dolloped baking soda paste on my knees 

and it was so quiet in the back room 

and cool like it was night already

six bee stings at seven years old 

and you told me they probably died

‘it’s only natural 

a bee will die 

if it loses its sting’

and I said a prayer for the bees 

it was all i knew 

and i asked, so kindly 

not to lose my sting

I was just 17 years old when I was raped

by that boy in the cabin in the snow

outside of town during the storm and you never knew what to say about that

and I laid next to her in that bed

while he touched me in my anaesthetized state

and it was so quiet in the back room 

and cold like winter was crying 

my second rape at seventeen years old 

and you told me he probably didn't mean it 

        

                                'it's only natural 

                                            a boy will sting 

                                                           if he loses his control 

and I said a prayer for the boys 

it was all I knew 

and I asked, so kindly 

not to lose control 

I wrote the first half of this poem a long while ago, and finished the second half after reading "Stones in My Pockets, Stones in My Heart" by Eli Clare. I reflected on many of the messages I was given as a kid surrounding gender, violence, and sexuality, and paired two of my experiences. 

Thank you.