Alexis “Bee”lgum

“I am a bee; I bumble around like a ditz, stop at every flower I love, and my mom’s the queen. SAVE THE BEES!”

Selected Works:

“Who has two thumbs?”

Who has two thumbs and absolutely loves the triple cheddarburger from Culver’s?

Who has two thumbs and will eat the triple cheddarburger from Culver’s in 5 minutes?

Who has two thumbs and is told not to be insecure because some people “would kill for your body!”

Or is told to love herself because someone might “envy” her?

 

I’m a narcissist, but not the bad kind, sometimes.

I’ll whisk compliments away from the deserving royalty and crown myself with the glittering admiration. Sorry hun, but that “Nice sweater” was for me, even though I’m not wearing a sweater.

 

Who has two thumbs and is told she needs to eat more because she’s too thin, but when I eat 15 cupcakes, mouths curl in disgust as eyes glance down to my stomach and back up to the crumbs I’m feverishly wiping from my mouth

Or hears “where does it all GO?!” after a middle aged woman sees me eat 5 steaks.

Or binge eats away the constant ache until my focus is drawn to the pudgy hill curving up from my stomach, bulging just enough to be noticeable?

 

I am Praxiteles, chiseling away fine marble to create Aphrodite of Knidos, dedicating her body to mine, the bend of her hips whisper tales of a mother, the subtle curves of mine converse adolescence with womanhood.  Our arms entwine with the ability to make skin calipers crack, our stomachs praised for being equitable.  

 

For the next week the taste of sweets grow sour on my tongue as I try not to eat, try to maintain the image that is offered to me in a diet pill

Instead of fit tea I gulp down any compliment I can get but choke on accepting it.  

Who has two thumbs and knows that she doesn’t have it as bad as the people with more fat than they know what to do with.

Who has two thumbs and is ashamed to say the word “fat”?

 

I am Sandro Botticelli, gracefully stroking my tempera grassa mixed with oil paint onto the rough canvas. The blush along my nose and cheeks tenderly touches your eyes while my eyes both beautiful in an uneven sense. The corners of my mouth slant lopsided into the sigh of a smile. This is the Birth of Venus, the Birth of me.
Who has two thumbs and invalidates my insecurities by comparing my body to someone dubbed “less fortunate in looks”. Is it you?


“Aren’t You Proud?”

You were found drunk on the street, nearing death’s door with each raspy breath that escaped your pale, quivering lips.

Head hung low till your chin touched your chest in shame.

How does it feel?

Knowing all your stories ended with memorable, horrific deaths while yours, was lying in a prim hospital bed dirtied with your insanity.

Brilliant insanity that wove tales of despair and gore.

Tales of Annabelle Lee and Elizabeth.

Tales of every aching artery in your dying heart.

Tales of all the things you knew…but me…

Was it really that hard to accept that you had a daughter?

Edgar, how could you betray me like this!?

Was it the tale my heart told under the weary floorboards of your mind?

Was the steady beat of your own flesh and blood too much to bear?

Or is that I am a creation from an act of unconditional love that has been withered like the tombstone of your dead lover?!

Tell me Edgar, because I’m dying to know, why did you send me away to this madhouse?

Everyday in my captivity I would read your stories and poems till my eyes bled with death and woe.

Everyday I would shield my ears from the pained shrieks and rambles of my psychotic neighbors.

Everyday I was beaten by the nurses till I laid in a pool of my dignity and blood.

Everyday while I suffered in agony…

You lived, you drank, you loved, you wrote.

A quill dipped in ink as dark as your mind.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary from the thunder and the storm, and the cloud that took the form, when the rest of heaven was blue of a demon in my view. In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed-but a waking dream of life and light hath left me broken hearted and wearing its own deep feeling as a crown, thy soul shall find itself ‘mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone.

Edgar, why couldn’t you love me?

What did I do to deserve this?

I’ve gone insane because of you, papa, aren’t you proud?

My head has become twisted and warped with abandonment, tortured words caress my thoughts at night, whispering beautiful revenge, my dreams are filled with glorious ways to kill you, papa, aren’t you proud?

I flinch from every tender hand because I don’t know what it’s like to be cared for, papa, aren’t you proud?

Today is my birthday, October 3rd, 1849.

I am no longer a child of the asylum and no longer a child of you, Edgar Allen Poe.

No longer will I stand and watch you prosper…

You were found drunk on the street, nearing death’s door with each raspy breath that escaped your pale, quivering lips.

Head hung low till your chin touched your chest in shame.

How does it feel?

Knowing that no one will ever think that someone poisoned your drink, papa, aren’t you proud?


“The smart thing to answer is I’m  more attracted to the fringe, the struggling survival to feel desperate”

Considered by The

demons

I come home.

 

I am

      hot

      hell

 

   alone

I am

     the dark

     rise above

rise above

    

      wake    up,

down      scream.

     my head

deep in the dream

       awake            my face,

  don’t break
smothering.


“Un-tide-eled”

They tell me it’s impossible, as they grate my dreams onto their supper,

Devouring aspirations with a disappointed appetite

Sterling silverware drips with the juices of ambition while you drink your squashed, fermented grapes stirred with the passion of my soul.

Since it’s so easy to masticate on the desires of the right cerebral hemisphere, help me chew on this,

Why are my inclinations for who I want to shape myself into, even if it involves some serious gene splicing and extremely advanced science so far fetched?

Why can’t I be a mermaid?

Somebody give me Ursula’s’ number cause I’ve got some scrawny legs to ditch.

For all the people with awkward globs of fat and tissue on their chest- being a mermaid gives you a life-long guarantee no-bra-policy even if you hang to your knees!

But wait folks, that’s not all! The water is salty enough to clear up the worst cases of that horrible life-ruining, face-plaguing, pus-emanating ACNE!

Who doesn’t want clear skin, flowing hair, the ability to hang free, and there’s no need to worry about awkward boners and periods cause I’m pretty sure mermaid genitalia doesn’t exist!

Now ladiessssssss listen up! Get this, you can lure men off ships and drown them with only your voice and won’t face multiple murder charges cause mermaids “don’t exist”.

You can say that the creep Christopher Columbus only saw three manatees but nuh-uh hun those were mermaids, not some bulbous sea cows.

All you “mature and reasonable” people may scoff at me and will probably think that I’m really weird or had some unsatisfactory childhood that led me to continue trying to have one in my teenage years and I assure you that you’re most likely spot on.

I was made for this; or mer-made for this. So stop mer-making me feel like an idiot for wanting to live out my childhood dream of being Unda’ Da’ Sea.

Sebastian couldn’t have said it better when he told hormonal rebellious Ariel that the human world’s a mess!

It’s so filthy that the earth can’t contain all the garbage we pollute it with and is overflowing out into the ocean!

About 90% of the surface is covered in stupid junk, so, DO YOU WANT TO SEE CUTE DOLPHINS ANYMORE OR DO YOU WANT TO RECYCLE?

Ladies, gents, and anyone else, do you like breathing? Cause there are these autotrophic components of the plankton community called phytoplankton that gives us 50-80% OF THE OXYGEN WE INHALE 17,000-23,000 TIMES A DAY.

The ocean contains the key to the lock of stability on earth, without it there would be global food shortages and a planetary loss of biodiversity.

No more sushi, no more nemo’s and dori’s, no more otters, no more life (in a sense).  

Shrimp-ly hearing a-boat the pollution probably won’t be enough to get you off your tails but I’m not squid-ding around, we’re krill-ing ourselves here!

As a mermaid, I’ll bribe all the sea witches to put the pollution in the polluters house, see how you feel about it then,

Later beaches.

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