SHE WAS LOST IN THE LABYRINTH AND I WANTED TO BE HER
i.
i’m drunk and i’m drunk and i’m drunk and i don’t want to see you; will you ever be able to touch me again?
am I wrong to think that there is something sacred in this, that when our energies meet (if only for these moments) we are, suddenly, powerful?
were.
we were so powerful and i was proud of that. i was proud of me although no one just how knew just how good i really was.
how good i really am.
i want them to know.
i will scream from the rooftops i am more than you will ever know or have ever known and that should scare you so much you can't look away and people will gather, as if they are afraid i'll jump. passion does that to people. love does that to those who call themselves human. what will love do to me? do you ask yourself at night what this madness has done to change you, knowing that this could change everything?
will you tell your future lovers about me?
clearly not clearly not clearly not clearly not,
i would rather get lost near the sea than ever fly that close to the sun again, i have already finished my icarus cycle
yet i know i will begin again.
ii.
a hurricane does no favors for sailors, star maps are useless in the caspian sea
such is the tide, constellations shine brighter. ultimatums aren’t worth the blood sacrifice though orion would say otherwise,
a reminder of your worth in the world.
she was lost in the labyrinth and i wanted to be her but you don’t, you know, you knew, you would
tell our future lovers a tale and maybe they’ll laugh, silly silly, these stories only pieces of your puzzle, who is she again?
lost in the future, find your own labyrinth
i need you i need you i need you i need you i need you
lean back watch the sun cover eyes fall asleep // wake up open eyes see the moon sit up straight
my mind is a blank. the icicle is the perfect murder weapon
and I want you to fashion a bullet just for that.
iii.
take me down to your wild side where the sleet goes coarse and planets come to visit, housewarming gifts in hand;
what a nice place you have, i did it all myself pluton. thank you for this essence of yours,
i promise i will be kind. a promise is all i have, this colluded hope weighing me down
down
down
down
down
don’t shake the nest and you won’t get stung,
but bee stings don’t hurt if you’re cavorting with wasps. don a yellow jacket to smoke me out, make me think I'm one of you, your one and only
and then wash off the guilt, tear free, rip me
r.i.p. me as you burn the flowers that were meant
to lay at my grave, where your name had been redacted
from the empty plot at my side.
Milena Bee is genderfluid poet and mythologist who lives in Los Angeles, with a tabby cat and a growing garden. They're also the co-founder of All Guts No Glory, a zine press and burgeoning lit mag. They're 24, a virgo, and proudly chicane. You can find them on Instagram @beenymph and as @mildrangus on twitter.