I notice  
when people treat me differently,  
the subtle shifts in their smiles,  
and a coldness beneath their words.  

I notice  
when they weave their lies,  
assuming I’m too gullible to see  
the threads of truth unravelling.  

I notice  
when I’m left out of the plan,  
a ghost in conversations,  
I become an option, not a choice.  

I notice  
the awkwardness in their glances,  
the way kindness wears a mask,  
hiding intentions behind pleasantries.  

I notice  
when I’m a pawn in their game,  
used for someone else’s gain,  
my worth measured by their needs.  

I notice
so don’t mistake my silence for naivety.  
I’m sharper than you think.  
I’m not blind; I notice everything.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Virtuous little owl,
your gentle blue eyes see all,  
seeking only the truth
a shrewd feathered guide.
With wings spread wide,  
soaring through dawn’s embrace,  
unveiling unseen secrets of night,  
illuminating wisdom’s chase  
until Nyx slips away  
and Apollo's sun rises.  

©️Lizzie Bevis

As the night comes,  
you slowly sneak in,  
stealing not only my dreams,  
but also my sleep.  
Yet in daylight,  
I can't escape;  
you capture my thoughts
beautifully bittersweet.

In fact, the daytime is worse;  
you take my appetite and thirst.  
I should have noticed  
from the very start,  
when you traded my steady pulse  
for a racing heart.  
You've kidnapped my mind,  
and possessed my soul;  
if I let you, my love,  
you'd swallow me whole.

Yet, I can't blame you  
for this ‘grief’ called love;  
you have no idea  
that you are a thief!  
You've stolen my heart  
and my reason, too;  
I'm lovesick,
I’m pining
forever thinking about you.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Poets are just artists
with so much to say,
we are quite happy
to spend hours writing
throughout our days.

Emotion is our fuel for thought,
along with love and hate,
our distant memories
and ideas are scribbled down,
as they wait to be woven into beautiful words to which we will invigorate.

To carefully plan and create
something new,
from something old
and make something meaningful
from the words that we mold.

Broken at times we may also be
and taking the time to write
gives a much needed release.
Being healed by using words
brings a feeling so new and complete.

But, sometimes,
I want to be feel broken
so I may rekindle
lost feelings that hurt me,
reminisce about lost romance,
to mend my shattered heart
and relive the pain
that once tore me apart.

This page is my canvas,
the words are my picture to paint
a view within your mind.
I can cause you to sink into my scene,
as I tell you a story about where I have been.

To tell you how joy filled my heart
when he came into my life,
and how everything was wonderful
and being by his side felt so right.
Remembering how the leaves
on the trees were green that day
and how beautiful the sky is blue
How the stars shimmer
in the clear night sky
and how the sunset kisses the land
each day anew.

But, how many times
did he break my heart
and heal it time and time again?
and then I’ll show you how
I eventually turned everything around
and then gave my life it's dues.

You see, we poets are just like artists
our passion is just with words,
I would write and use my blood
to paint the sunsets
and draw lovehearts if I could.

I would carve and create
masterpieces with the hurt
that was left behind
Just to bring life to a poem or story
being written within my lifetime.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Gazing into the mirror,
blotchy eyed, unkempt and exhausted
as dull light casts shadows,
framing my weary face,
as I search for any strength
left in this aged reflection
by recalling fearless days.

Adrift, all conviction is lost
yet, in my mind I still tread water,
as despair’s chill takes hold
and I drown in torments deep depths,
each breath a heavyweight
as I slowly sink under.

My heart remains guarded,
I count each fragile vulnerable beat
and I deeply pray for solace as frailty continuously snuffs out my spark.
The anxiety grips steadfastly to reality
and my self-esteem dissipates
under this malady.

I cower from this fear,  
not wishing to fade into stillness here,  
while the world outside looms
like an impossible mountain to climb.  
Why must my existence feel so awry,  
reduced to nothing but a broken soul?
Because, this is not me…
This is not me at all.

©️Lizzie Bevis