Barefoot Princess

Spritely wouldn’t be the word

to describe her.

She was cute and dirty,

the opposite of royalty,

but it suited her just fine.

The thought never crossed my mind.

 

Her hair of amber waves

wasn’t braided. So, it clung to her face.

She didn’t play alone,

it was her and her shadow.

 

The little girl ran to her mom who was also alone.

Instead of a shadow, it was with her phone.

Go and play, we’re leaving soon.

Mommy has to get ready for another interview.”

 

I assumed the mom was telling the truth.

 

Dashing through the dandelions and towards my way,

“Mister, do you want to play?”

I looked toward her mom,

who was still oblivious to the world around.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry. I can’t play with you.”

 

“Watcha’ doin?

Are you colorin?”

“No, I’m writing poetry.”

“Is that like a story?”

“Sort of, kind of. ”

 

“Can you write about me

in your poetry story or something?”

With a heartfelt sigh and twist of my pen

I scribbled some words and tore them out for my new friend.

“Now, it’s not finished.

A life like yours isn’t ordinary for a princess.”

“I can finish it! That’s why it’s mine!”

 

Honey! It’s that time!”

 

“Thanks, mister! I’ll keep it safe!”

I watched as the little girl ran away.

Waving goodbye,

I questioned why she came into my life.

 

I returned the next day

to find no one at play.

 

I would like to think I gave a purpose

for that little girl to continue being

the “Barefoot Princess.”

A Beekeeper

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A pain from its ass,

the bee can inflict.

A beekeeper happily greets

this creature, without any derelict.

The keeper takes its honey

without the sting of agony

and makes his way to the grocery.

 

So, which one are you, as a writer?

Would it be the beekeeper

or the bee itself?

Both harvest things from nature

and structure its nomenclature.

By the end, someone takes it away

for their own endeavor.

Which are you

the bee or the keeper?