and the bus doors open just the same

every day is beautiful in its own way
with rain and bows and sunlight shoots
a flick book show as she puts down roots
riding through a magic land, unicorn mane in her hands
with the glitter of another day shining on her skin

stirring cinnamon porridge in the window seat
every syllable uniform, pressed and neat
shiny black shoes upon her feet
and the bus doors open just the same

every day a crisp fresh new page
with colour splashes dropping all around
a crescendo of new sights and sounds
dancing through the middle of a dream
with the taste of satisfaction on her tongue

stepping the same cracks in her cigarette break
the lines on her face begin to ache
she's wondering if she's really awake
and the bus doors open just the same

every night is a shadow of the night before
with thought puzzles building the road back home
the tripping rhythm of another poem
riding the track mindlessly
as her nostrils fill with the same stale stench

in her own time she's all lost at sea
boiling up for another cup of tea
she's so sick of her own company
and the bus doors open just the same

And tomorrow will be beautiful in its own way
and the bus doors open just the same.

It’s morning. I woke up. It’s hatefully grey.
I’d close my eyes and go back to sleep.
Thoughts wander around me like chimeras
And weave their nets from all sides of me.

I think I’ll make one of them just a reality:
I’ll make some coffee, there’s no other way.
The day won’t work out without coffee.
And there’ll be a mess in my head anyway.

I’m up. What a nebulous nasty morning.
It shamelessly drives me crazy at all.
And why did I suddenly feel wholly
That I know all about myself?
What a fool?

What a phenomenal wacky silliness!
What a criminal irrational nonsense!
I thought that tomorrow is really fatal
As it was in the same way for years.

And what is in point of fact?
Where’s tomorrow?
All colors around me are totally dim.
I try to find my previous strong energy,
But only monotony is all-around me.

It was so simple yesterday, but now it’s ugly.
My coffee’s sneezing. It’s got a cold.
Well, I’ll go to live just like that, don’t look behind.
And I will live as long as I can, with no support.

waiting in line
for something interesting
this light of mine
will always be the best thing
waiting in line
to see a new movie
i saw it online
it looks pretty groovy
waiting in line
to ride a carousel
the names of every animal, couldn't tell
waiting in line
for a celebrity to sign
my snapback hat and then
i'll feel divine
waiting in line
to drive and see you
traffic always makes
my time seem few
waiting in line
for the next train
the carriage stops now
they all look the same
waiting in line
to get something to eat
hunger moves throughout
and pain through my feet
waiting in line
to wait in another
i've been in here for days
don't want to be a bother
waiting in line
to an elusive pit
people line up
so seen as fit
waiting in line
'till i finally leave
the photopass shows
only five seconds on the screen

I dream of morning sunlight
bathing the room in gold,
a gentle awakening,
as the day unfolds.
Rain falling softly
on cobblestone streets,
watching lovers share umbrellas,
wishing I had someone to meet.

I dream of Candlelit dinners,
watching the stars above,
spontaneous dances,
and falling in love.
My life is a canvas
of dreams unfurled,
wishing for perfect moments
so that I could paint the world.

Yet in reality, my alarm is blaring,
I sit sleepily, letting my coffee go cold.
I then rush through the traffic
as the morning grows old.
I splash in murky puddles
and soak my worn shoes,
Then stand on the crowded bus,
chuntering away my morning blues.

When at home the microwave beeps,
and there are bills to pay.
I watch Netflix in silence
With a tv dinner to end my day.
I then lay alone in bed
in this mess that I conceal,
with a quiet awareness
of how I truly feel.

©️Lizzie Bevis