Who Stole the World From Me

 I know you.
I see you.
You're the one
Who stole the world from me.
You're the one we worship
As though you were a god.
As our lives stretch to fill our days
We praise you for nothing,
For you have done nothing worth praising.

You're the one who said we needed to be worthy,
To do more for our living than just eat and sleep.
Every day we see the bees buzzing outside
And the flies who make their way indoors.

You tell us that, because the bee makes honey,
It's worth more than the fly.
Yet if a bee makes its way into your house,
It becomes lost, disoriented, not knowing what's safe
And what's poison. 
The fly, meanwhile, knows what to do,
It never becomes lost or hungry,
For its lived by our side for years.
The fly need not work for its keep,
So it does not fear starvation.

It knows how to live without you.

Do you tell us to be bees so that we won't fly away?

I'm staring outside my window,
Wishing that I could live among flowers and trees
Instead of concrete and steel.
I'm wishing that I could be a bee,
One with a place in the hive.
But I can't.
Because I can't master the skills you feel are worthy.
I cannot produce,
I can only consume,
And for that I'm doomed to be squished.

Why did you decide that my skills are not worthy?
Is it because I only think,
Never act?
Or is it simply that I never say what you want to hear?
If I'm truly worthy of more,
Than why is the path ahead
Littered with thorns and brambles?

It's easy to write me off,
For I am not,
And will never be worthy.
But why is it that the ones who are worthy,
The ones work tirelessly producing the honey that makes life sweet,
Are now dying like flies for your cause.
Every day I see them suffering,
And I know that I am lucky,
For I was never given a place in your hive.

I know who you are,
Liar, cheater, and thief.
You're the one who stole the world from me,
The one who will never produce the goods that you crave,
And from everyone else who did.