I bought the legos you promised you’d build with me years ago.
Laying in the dark of your room, we promised it would be our first big set.
Built together.

I will leave the last piece off, incase you ever wish to fulfill that promise.

Its my body, my money, its up to me what I do with it.
But everyone else is wearing it.
I cant help the way I feel.
Blonde
Red
Orange
Brown
Purple
DMs purple with pink laces
school skirt altered in the textile lab 3" shorter
hormones racing, zipping, vibrating, fizzing till the top pops
stairs made for stomping and storming
cackling laughter crackling down the telephone wire
clothes left on the bedroom floor abandoned for a girl crisis.

You cant read my mind
read my lips
read my body
read my journal sandwiched between the midriff covering cottons gran bought for Christmas and the skimpy lace thong I'd be grounded for buying

Mother's mattress sanitary towels tossed aside
for shamefully purchased tampons
instructions included

and time has passed
and masks have fallen
and I find you there in the muck and the mire
and dust you off
until

I see your face - all mothers lipstick and glittering pink eye shadow
and the smile that stores secrets in a treasure chest.
Your legs shake like Bambi's but you get to your feet
and nestle yourself into me warmly, strongly until you fall right into me
and you run and you run and you run and you run and you run
right through my veins
giggles throbbing through my pulse
pajama parties and homemade perfume radiating in my eyes
and there you are
and there I am.

Please someone help.
If not there is little hope left..
Time is running out…
….

Is the fear of losing control
getting you down?
I can help,
a little poetic therapy and you’ll be good to go!
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Now back to your poetic issues
….

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