My Colony's Keeper

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Hunter Poetry

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What if I didn't want to get married, or carry my own children
Without these things could I even become a woman
If I wasn't one half turned 2.4
If I'd never fancied a boy before
Oh man, these feelings, they were all consuming, dooming
Misery loves company, but I knew I'd never want Oliver
How could I be like this
My young mind feeling like a failure, feeling like less of a woman before I'd even become one
A malfunctioning miscreation
But it all changed one day in a science lesson, grey lines redefined in my mind with chalk on a blackboard
In a lesson about honeybees
Epitomised epiphany
And it was the role of the worker bees that I could specifically relate to, the female hunter-gatherers who gather pollen and nectar to feed their colonies
They don't lay eggs, instead they maintain the hive and take care of the queen's offspring
A sickly sweet community bound by kinship and connectedness, an unconventional family
And something switched that day, an awoken perception, my identity perpetually twitching
A hive is matriarchal, no patriarchy
The queen bee feared by many but still fiercely protected, the stay-at-home mother, her predetermined
fate essential to the hive, essential for reproduction
Encompassing exactly what it means in society to be feminine
A dependable dependent
But for me, the worker bees were the very essence of my femininity
Caring without child-bearing
a divine companion, the purest form of fostering, adoption without bureaucracy
It was that day that I accepted who I am, I accepted who I wasn't
I no longer felt as though I was any less of a woman for choosing not to carry children for loving another woman
Worker bees and buzzcuts, it's okay to be this way, it's okay to be gay
I am my colony's keeper

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