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How to stop telling people I love them,

how to slow down the love, the bleeding,

the honey.

How to remove a beehive. How to lock my tongue

between my teeth. How to melt down beeswax

and burn my heart like a candle. How to fit real blood and sinew

where the metaphors were. Help, what if the metaphors

shatter in my newfound bloodstream.

How to be a guardian angel. How to stop the love from spreading

from my sternum to my shoulders and growing

wings. How to stop the wings from growing mouths

that say “I love you.” Do my wings have pink eye,

or are they supposed to look like that?

Guardian angel applications. How to make sure people are safe

when I’m not there. How to let people know I love them

without reminding them I’m real. Am I real? Would it be better

if I was real? How many times can a real person say “I love you”

before someone gets annoyed and straight-up

murders them? Carnivore bees eat corpses?

Carnivore bees make honey? Ghosts say

“I love you”?

Aimee Lowenstern is a twenty-two-year-old poet living in Nevada. She has cerebral palsy and is a big fan of glitter. Her work can be found in several journals, including The Gateway Review and Synaesthesia Magazine.