Hatred is a simple rude statement out of misunderstanding.

I tend to do the wrong thing, but only in social means. The advice of a friend once given to me makes me ill, “…never try to fix things immediately, and never talk to anyone every day.” If we are social animals, then I am most assuredly the wretched and lowly scavenger. I go out each day for whatever I can find of social feed. I often get an upset stomach from it, as I imagine a raccoon would. I however transform into a bear with a honey pot when I find conversation as sweet, sitting quite contently in a single spot with my snout messy in the thick of things.

I find it odd that I am not the one to get sick from such a life style. Indeed, it is almost exclusively others who find themselves without the stomach for it. Perhaps it is some sort of vulgar display in their eyes. However, I continue to gorge myself upon it.

I try to give back to those who provide me the feast, those bashful bees. I am generally a supportive person. Sometimes when you try to hold up an animal and try comfort it, they will bite you out of fear. We are all social animals, and when do not understand something we fear it. I promise that I will not bite for I have removed my fangs. I know when you bite, it is because no one can fathom a man who can talk endlessly at one point, and has nothing to say at another.

Scavengers do not eat everything; I tell you I am thin for a reason. Someday I will eat for years. I hope that until then, all of those bees that allow me to stand central to them whilst they buzz, shall continue to dance for me. I know that conversation leads to many things, and I want more of those things. I want everyone who ever made me laugh, smile, cry, or best of yet left me speechless to continue doing that for the rest of my days.