the Lavender and the Bees
Between the lavender and the bees,
you told me what it means
to hold someone like you hold me.
You told me you don't want a cliché,
don't want our days together
to be like any other day.
You were talking to me
about how much you want me.
I looked into your eyes,
you weren't looking at me.
Head tilted to the sky,
almost looking for the words
to explain what you mean.
We were between the lavender and the bees,
and I have never felt so free,
With a boy,
With a man,
Not afraid you might lock me up in a room and throw away the key.
Not afraid you might touch me in ways I didn't want to be touched,
I was not afraid,
How weird is it
you don't make me feel afraid.
Maybe it's the smell of the lavender.
Maybe it's the buzzing of the bees.
Maybe it's the way your eyelashes curl up to the ceiling.
Maybe it's your voice which reminds me of the sea.
Maybe it's just you.
Maybe it's who you are.
Maybe it's your heart, and soul, and mind.
Maybe it's you.
But maybe this is a trick.
Maybe it's not real.
Maybe there will come a day when I look back and read this poem
asking myself how was I so very naïve,
Maybe I'm just not used to this.
Maybe all the men I have ever met
have disappointed me beyond measures,
Have hurt me in ways I can't explain.
Maybe I will be okay.
Maybe you weren't lying
when you told me you cared.
Maybe I need to stop overthinking everything
and send this odd, confusing poem
to the boy who's lips remind me of honey
and who's eyes make me think of the forest.
Maybe then he'll understand
Why sometimes I might seem a bit scared,
and way too intense.
And while he reads it,
I hope that he smells the lavender,
I hope that he hears the bees,
I hope that he feels my touch,
I hope that this isn't all too much.