Peace, Tea, and Bee's

I wrote this last night and I'm not exactly sure it's poetry but that's the only tag it seems to fit. :)

I feel at peace and am surprised by it.
It's like I am a still, white, cold winter day.
I feel quiet inside, and all the static and noise
of my chattering and fear about Faith & Sexuality
have gone out for tea.

And my other internal chattering?
Even though I wonder every fourth day or so, if I will miss
the "she" who said no to friendship etc. until I am 80 years old
I am quite taken-aback.

It's only a wondering.
There is no anger or self judgment or explicit grief.
Just a missing and a wondering.

I think there was just something so lovely about her
and I am so much less self hating
that, in spite of the tiny sting at the end of things
I'm going to keep what was lovely.

Perhaps she's just a bee.
Bright yellow and dramatic black.
Built to flit around and collect pollen.
And I just didn't know she was a bee.

If you know something is a bee
you probably don't make fast movements
or run charging towards it.
It's nature is to flit around
And it's stinger is to keep it safe,
Not because it's out to sting you.

Next time I meet a bee maybe I can be this still.
I do hope I don't miss her till I'm 80.
But if I do, maybe then we can join our faith and sexuality
and go out for tea.