Why do I feel so alone
When I am in crowds
Why am I so quiet
When others are around
Every truth I wish to say
Gets stuck inside my chest
Each and every single day
I just want eternal rest

Before you, romance and love
was a distant thought,
a concept I could neither
touch nor name,
so rare like the shooting star
that yearned to be caught
on the day you finally came.

I was besotted with your warmth
like a meteor trail of cosmic rain.
I gravitated towards your voice,
a sound beyond anything I can compare.
Your smile breathed life into my soul,
and your eyes sparkled like stardust
scattered into the midnight air.

I remember how we slow danced
and you made my heart lose control,
and in the moments I could not speak
your safe arms were my guide,
and your presence filled the void inside.
You painted auroras on the night sky,
showing me, what love should truly mean, and I am star-blessed.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Our caps flew like confetti.
Thank god I customized mine.
I'll keep it as a memento of all-nighters,
friendships formed in the academic trenches,
dismissive professors and group-project-tortures.

This isn’t another ‘drunk girl’ holiday, despite obvious similarities.
Our parents, sisters, brothers, and grandmothers are here.

We came in doe-eyed, holding overpriced planners,
and enough provisions for two year Mars missions.
We hoped to discover friends, decent Wi-Fi signals
and perhaps our adult selves.

Now we're holding diplomas, those future-proofing talismans.
Mine’s in molecular biophysics and biochemistry.
Which is wry, because when I was in high school,
my sister accused me of not knowing how to boil water.

I've been asked "What’s next?" a thousand times in the last month.
I have plans—but I was dying to shrug and say, “that’s tomorrow’s problem,” like I’ve spent major duckets, degree wise, but remain the ditzy blonde.
The standard graduate answer, I’ve heard, is "I dunno."
(though honestly, it’s a great answer).

Congratulations, all of you graduating overachievers out there—everywhere.
Go forth, be fabulous and find that next big dream.
Can you believe we actually did this?
Argh! I gotta go, someone wants another picture.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Summer Wind by Robert Mosci
Tomorrow by Wings

In the winter of
My darkest sadness
A candle glows,
Tiny and so far away.
It gives the darkness
A focal point and I
Struggle my way towards it.

Another candle lights my way.
I don’t know where it came from
But it makes a fearful journey
So much easier to manage,
And I eventually will dance
On thistledown to
The music of the Skylarks
In a sun-filled, cloudless sky.
  ljm

my sadness grows like ivy,
quiet, tenacious,
weaving itself through the seams of my ribs
until i mistake the ache
for architecture.

i wake in a room with no corners,
only echoes.
the air is damp with memory,
and something hums beneath the floorboards—
a sound like
what if.

rain leaks in through the ceiling
but never wets the ground.
i open the windows
to let in a sky that won’t look me in the eye.
it’s always dusk here,
somewhere between forgetting and too-late.

the mirror won’t speak anymore.
i ask it: am i still a girl
or just the shell she wore
before the flood?

in the dream,
i am made of wax
and someone keeps lighting matches.