My house was made of anger
That boiled red inside me
My door was built of sticks
That beat me down many years
My windows were glass history books
That told my past to strangers

My room was a cell
That held me prisoner
My bed was a chain
That linked me to you
My mirror was a reminder
That i was not my own

My backyard was a death trap
You would fall and never get up
My garden was a diary
That told my life in the flowers
And the bees would
Come and take it away

The bees would come
To take my diary to the beehive
And people would take the honey
That was made of my diary
Then they taste the bitterness, anger, sadness and salty tears

I thank those bees
For letting people know
How good they got it
And how i would live in my prison forever