getting stung

Anger buzzes in my head and belly

like a hive of disturbed bees.

I see the disparity of effort

and you getting more out of this than me.

For now, I still care enough to meddle

and stir up those bees 

by pointing out the inequity.

You don't have to worry yet that I will leave.

I'm still invested, still connected, 

still trying to prove that I matter.

I'm still protecting comb and honey and Queen,

with this anger buzzing inside of me.

Angry bees swarming to make a stand, here I am.

Buzzing and diving in my zig zag flight

to get your attention, make you hear me

Flying and buzzing until I tire.

My protest continues, attempts to protect,

attempts just to be heard and seen.

Exhausted, I can no longer fly, only buzz my wings.

My last stand, my final warning.

I want so much to continue,

I struggle against the futility

Too weary, my wings grow still and silent.

And yet, I know you fail to see.

The danger is not in the buzzing,

the anger is a sign of life.

The buzzing is only your warning.

Occurring only when the anger starts.

Fear that moment of silence.

The silence portends decision.

Dread the moment when the air goes flat.

What follows is resignation.

While I still care enough to buzz

to protect my hive and home

there is time to avoid the silence.

Damage can be undone.

But that silence of decision,

it's the harbinger of finality.

Because it means I don't care anymore.

Pushed past anger to apathy.

Then the hive is silent and empty.

No sweetness left in its chambers.

The swarm has taken the Queen and gone.

Leaving only the shell of the comb.