Born with a small twitching body,
with a small soft face
living a small life,
Repulsed, filled with rage and hate.
One day i will wake up
and do something great.

Extraordinary, truly remarkable,
Etch something coarse
on the parchment of fate,
One day i will wake up,
Unforgettable,
and do something great.

Write a list of the big differences I can make,
Go deep, scratch all my dreams' buried surface
Maybe one day little things will add to a lot,
The fears will fade,
I will do something great.

I want a touch of Eminescu
To make you fall for me outright,
And hints of Grigorescu’s hues
To turn your art to pure delight.

A bit of Creangă, I would keep,
To share our tale for all to hear,
And, blessed by Slavici’s stroke of luck,
I found you near, a heart sincere.

With Blaga’s strength, I’ll crush my fears,
And Bacovia’s heart shall feed on pain,
To make friends with my solitude,
And find some beauty in the rain.

And maybe just a bit of Petrescu
To spend with you one final night,
So Stănescu will recall from me,
You were my rarest, purest light.

Add a lot of dedication,
mix it with pure determination.
Pour in patience by the pound
and let persistence stir around.

Fold well with hard work's might,
work sufficiently and rest well at night.
Simmer with an open mind,
and leave all doubts and fears behind.

Let it cook with passion's flame,
until you've earned a respected name.
Season well with positivity,
and garnish with creativity.

Serve with grace and gratitude,
Topped with a winning attitude.
This recipe, when followed well,
Yields success, as time will tell.

Bon appétit!

©️Lizzie Bevis

you're only alone
when you club yourself with the
employees
the tgif-ers
the rule abiders
the girls groupchat from college

you're only abnormal
when you compare yourself to the
smalltalkers
the engineers
the doctors
the selfie people

you had this wrong the whole time

the miscreants
the artists
lone visionaries who pay
for their brilliant ideas in tears
before bed each night
one more day gone by
undiscovered

this is
the secret majority
making no noise

the arthropods of the world
running the talent show
after the curtains draw close

go.

I came across a site called "Hello Poetry."
It made promises of sweet words — heavenly.

I tiptoed my way inside,
tired of the world,
with a heavy heart and a heavy mind.

But then I read and read and read;
I read about love, about ruin, about dread.

I read of the pain, I read of the thoughts
of different bodies, of different minds, of different souls.

I came in with my hands empty;
I leave with passion — plenty.
I found it at the right time,
with my heart hollow,
when even love felt like a tough pill to swallow.

I leave now with my own stories
about the words of others,
strangers across the world,
now my round table, my counsel,
a new life — unfurled.

(I wrote this just after I read a couple of poems that really made my perspective shift about different things that we commonly struggle with life. All of them were so beautifully written, I felt so heard and I felt like I was already a part of a community)

Sometimes you're a footnote.
Others can refer to.

Other times you're lucky enough.
To be a whole entire chapter.

Some people go.
So they turn into a page.

As they wonder why.
They're not mentioned,
Again by name.

Other people's stories.
Will stay estranged from you.

While others will weave,
Their way into your world.

We are all just living stories.
Wanting to be heard.
Needing to be seen.

Trying to find a home.
Among the margins.
Of life.

We are all just stories.
With something to say.

That we are here.
Even if it was just,
For a chapter or two.

We all become stories.
At the end of the day.