Jairo Alzate
My name is Bee, I'm twenty-three,
There's a creature in my room, and it watches me.
It sits at the foot of my bed as I sleep,
And it says nothing as it watches me weep.
It's a magical being, a mischievous entity.
It messes with my mind and self-identity.
But no one can see it, except for me.
It's a silent and violent, devotee.
And wherever I go, it's there too.
It constantly stalks me, no matter what I do.
It always finds me, wherever I am.
There's no personal space, it doesn't give a damn.
My name is Bee, I'm now twenty-four,
The monster is closer than ever before.
I keep turning my head, away from its face.
But it oozes all over me like it owns the damn place.
"Go away!" I scream "Get out of my head!"
"You're no good," it replies "You'd be better off dead."
"Shut up!" I cry as it stares at me blankly.
"It's the truth, my dear, you'd be better off frankly."
It then crawls up my back and tickles my spine.
"I'll disappear for a while if you drink all this wine."
I stare at the golden liquid, in the crystal clear glass,
"What's the worst it can do? Some time it'll pass."
Down the hatch, it goes. One, two, three, four.
A few hours later, I stumble back to my door.
And there it is again, just sitting there patiently.
"I've been waiting for you", it says to me vacantly.
My name is Bee, I'm freshly twenty-five.
The creature is now consuming me alive.
It's taken my body. Spirit, and soul.
I can't fight anymore, I've lost all control.
People say I look different, they ask "Are you okay?"
"I'm just tired", I reply, because what else can I say?
That this invisible beast is having a grand feast,
on my flesh and bones? Who'd believe that in the least?
I am a husk, I am a vessel, I'm a shell of a person,
Even the smallest task takes overexertion.
I'm exhausted and weary. Battled, bruised, beaten.
Won't be long now until I'm entirely eaten.
That's what this thing wanted, from the moment we met.
When it sidled up to me, I was vulnerable. Upset.
"You don't need them," it cooed "You have me now instead."
So distraught and alone, into its arms, I fled.
I wish I hadn't listened, I wish I said no.
I had no idea that this far it would go.
With my withered, frail body, I swing open my door.
My knees give out, and I fall to the floor.
"You win," I whisper, "I lost. I'll concede."
"I'll do whatever you say. Whatever you need."
The monstrosity's composed, and flatly replies:
"The battles not over 'til one of us dies."
Fear sweeps over my body, all the way to my feet.
"You're right," I respond "that's a rule you can't cheat."
I wander into the kitchen, grab the first knife I can find.
"Just do it," it breathes "and clear out your mind."
I walk into the bathroom, each footstep like lead.
I turn the faucet, run the bath, and empty my head.
I turn to the mirror and slowly undress.
It's a hard sight to see, I hate to confess.
My forehead is sweaty, eyes are swollen and hairs awry.
And it is at this moment that I start to cry.
I clutch the blade to my chest and lean my back to the wall,
I haven't cried this much since.. I don't know, can't recall.
Looking over the bath, the water at the brink,
I turn off the tap.
I stop.
And I think.
What about papa? What about my sister? My brother?
I didn't stop to think what this might do to my mother.
My cousins are still little, and they need me too...
In fact, there's so much I've still yet to do.
I want to watch my brother grow up, exceed expectations!
He'll be productive and successful, seven homes in seven nations!
McLaren, Mercedes, Aston Martin to name a few,
a successful young actor, there's nothing he can't do.
My sister, the optometrist. Smart, talented, delightful.
I know she can do it, even though the world is kinda frightful.
Maybe own her own practice? Have a few kids. Maybe three?
I hope they invite me over, "Come for dinner, Aunty?"
And what about marriages? And my own babies? My first graduation?
Going to university? Studying? My first orientation?
I want to travel the world. I've always wanted to see France.
Even go to Spain, to see the Flamenco dance prance.
I want a tattoo and a small house with three dogs!
I'll have a big fireplace, and burn yuletide logs.
Maybe work with little animals? In small petting zoos?
Screw it - I'll make my own, invite my nieces and nephews.
I need to see things, smell things, be present and live true.
Yes, now I think about it, there's still plenty to do.
"You can't do that," it hisses, from the back of my head.
"You're naive, useless, stupid. Get in the tub instead."
"I forgot you were here," I hum, and I smile
"I've got something to do, I won't see you for a while."
With my last ounce of strength,
I pull myself off the floor.
I put on some new clothes.
And walk back out of that door.
My name is Bee, it's five years later.
I'm happy to report, that life couldn't be greater.
I have my family, my friends, I'm also a wife.
I'm so unbelievably grateful for this crazy, weird life.
But I'm afraid 'it' still lurks about, that little dictator.
Can't seem to move on, but I don't mind that deflator.
It comes, and it goes, it's like an old friend.
But I can see where it starts now, and I can see that it ends.
I have no shame anymore, I live with growing pride.
With all the love in the world, and my family by my side.
I'm still learning every day, there's much to be taught.
Accept what is given, and not what you thought.
If there's one thing, I can teach you, from my own unique trail.
Is that life isn't easy, and you're going to fail.
But that's not the be all end all, my friend, not at all.
You can't appreciate the flights, without a good fall.
What I'm trying express, in my own strange way,
Is that life isn't perfect, no matter what they say
But there's only one you, and that's perfect enough.
Because a world without you?
Boy.
It'd be tough.
Listen, I'm not saying this to butter you up, to charm or to flatter.
You're strong enough.
Smart enough.
Kind enough.
You deserve everything in life.
You're someones everything.
You. Matter.