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 Jan 3 Delicacy8100
Liana
My mother holds her head in her hands
I think it's because of me
My mental health
Is not what she wishes it to be

"I'm sorry"
I say in tears
"Okay"
She responds
I'm missing the "it's"

"I'm sorry"
I try again
..
She ignores it

My head explodes of thoughts of guilt
I can't handle it

"What do you want to do?"
She asks after a while
I think to myself
"Die"
But change it quickly
How dare I think that way

I stay silent


My mother is shaking her knee
She's upset
Stressed
She doesn't know what to do with me
I don't either

"I'm sorry"
I sob
"Why?
Why are you sorry, Liana?"
She asks exasperated
Like apologizing was a crime

I don't answer
I don't want to make things worse

I just cry

My mother sighs
I don't know what to do
She's my sane parent
The best thing I have
How dare I hurt her in any way

I want to say sorry
But I am sorry for saying sorry

My head is going to collapse
(this note was written by a closet that leads to the water where there is a friendly shark called Dan.)
Bright flowers smiling in the
Morning sunlight and
They bloom in nature's pure delight
A tapestry of beauty rare
A testament to love and care
And different colour flowers
Blowing everywhere and its
A precious sight and
Their magical fragrance whispers
In the wind and a
Symphony of colours
That dazzle my sight.
Flowers 💐 🌹 🌸 🏵 🌼 💐
As December's stars fade into the night,
The old year slips away, worn but wise,
Taking with it lessons held tight,
Each triumph, tear, and life's surprise.

We bid farewell with knowing grace
To the months that shaped us, day by day,
Taking strength from every trace
Of wisdom earned along the way.

Though defeats linger, we release
The weight of what we cannot change,
And turn, with hope's sweet increase,
Toward the New Year and a bright new age.

©️Lizzie Bevis
A New Year brings fresh hope.
May you all have a wonderful new year.
Not all victories wear medals of gold,
Some hide in moments,
overlooked and untold.
They were found in a deep sigh,
In a smile and through tears,
when days were long,
when you wished for hope
and a will to be strong.

With each sunrise met
when rest felt incomplete,
and with each foul day weathered,
with heavy feet.
These too are triumphs,
written into each trial,
between survival and each mile.

When you carried on when it felt too much,
found peace in chaos, with a patient touch.
Building castles from the ruins of your plans,
and held faith like water
cupped in trembling hands.

Count the small victories, every single one,
each battle fought and silently won.
For perseverance begins with each try,
and strength lives within
the desire to thrive.

This year that's passing,
Has been harsh and kind,
And left its markings on your mind.
Yet here you stand, still breathing deeply,
With hope your heart has learned to keep.
In a quiet victory, that is yours to hold
Worth more than any medal of gold.

©️Lizzie Bevis
For me, personally 2024 has been shocking, it certainly hasn't been without its challenges, but I am here and I am hoping that 2025 will be much better.
Winter has decorum
unlike his sister Spring,
he is slow and ponderous
but she's a giddy thing
My notes are filled with little snippets of thought a scribble of letters, genuine but unrefined it seems that when I feel passion I lack the motivation yet when I sit down with a glass of lemonade laptop in hand and cool breeze running through my hair my mind suddenly seems to lack a single coherent thought discouragement turns the pink sugar water to mud I question how I can declare poetry my love when I have not showered it with affection in months maybe I try too hard to turn pretty what's meant to be misshapen maybe each word doesn't have to flow like a steady stream divulging the meaning of this world or the secrets in my heart maybe it's alright if a poem feels more like treading over rocks than drifting to sleep on a giant fluffy cloud maybe this is enough
 Nov 2024 Delicacy8100
Eliot York
that i've been reading your poetry
(on the new front page)
and,

I ******* love
your words; your worlds;
it's like i'm,
    there. right there,
with you.

you see, i didn't do what you do--
         write my story aloud
--when i was fifteen, or even twenty-two

just an inch off the ground
                        i confided in clouds
stayed lost (was a puff too proud)

that was then, sure, but even today
   (it's 11:11, now)
putting any of it down
committing to this word, not that
this sentiment,
      not that
this meaning
       (and not simultaneously that)
              is walking through fire

and so, for leading the way
           let me just say,
                       i love you

and please,
don't ever stop.
she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could
 Oct 2024 Delicacy8100
z
when people are in love
they often say
they simply fell
tripped over their own two feet
face forward
and into the arms of their beloved

i did more than simply fall
onto the ground of your love

you, for me
were an ocean
and i dived
headfirst
roughly
harshly
almost painfully
into the waters of “you”

i knew i could not swim
but i did so anyway
i was drowning
entangled in you
surrounded by this being of “you”
engulfed in this feeling of “you”

and i did not know what came over me
but i let myself drown
i did not try to swim back up
because if i went back to land,
releasing myself from your grasp
that would mean losing the feeling of “you”

and after
submerging into the depth
the love
the passion
of “you”

how could i ever leave?
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