How to stop telling people I love them,
how to slow down the love, the bleeding,
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.