Mum, my sweetheart, I’m tired.
Do you believe or not?

It’s like my legs are broken under
Or maybe they’re gone for short.

My head is being torn apart
By different odd thoughts.

And I can’t, I can't stop thinking.
Fears are around. More mots.

I ***** up my eyes firmly.
I instantly stop my ears.

And I’m silent again, silent again
As if there’re no dread and fears.

Mum, my sweetheart, I’m tired!
I don’t want being afraid to live!

I’m so tired mum! I’m really tired!
There’re too much atrocities.
It’s true, not a myth.

Just little bells,
Ding-****, ding-****,
Are chirping sweet sounds.
How nice is their song.

There’s not a bit truth
In that saccharine ‘re-fa-la’.
But there won't be nothing else.
We can’t live without lie.

Much like passing seasons,
mild crisp autumns
greet cold winters
as time silvered
her once auburn hair,
yet, within her caring gaze,
that cheerful spark
is often there.

Her hands once always busy,
are now gentle and thin,
her fingers have stiffened
but, they still harbour
strength deep within,
and in a way, it is sublime,
how they lifted, guided,
and carried me over time.

I look at her tiny frame,
as age mapped out the miles
of her life-long journey
around her knowing smile,
and kind eyes.
Some things never change,
like her wise
steely grey-blue eyes,
reminding me of the sky
when rain softly falls.

©️Lizzie Bevis

I'm so tired, Mum,
Of tackling a lot all the while,
Of hiding my nerves into a ring-mail,
Of running away all the time.

I'm so tired, Mum!
There're so much lies around!
It's so scary, I'm starting to feel
That I'm falling down.

I'm so tired, Mum!
It's so unfair! I can't even weep.
Fluff my pillow like for a kid, Mum.
I deathly want to sleep.

Some say,
love is a curse.
Some say,
love is a blessing.

For me,
it's a spark in the dark,
reason to rise,
and be alive.

Throughout the process
My body takes a hit
I grip my thighs, look into my eyes
I don’t recognise it one bit

I grab my loose stomach and
Flinch at the tender touch
I run my fingers slowly through my hair
It’s too fragile for a brush

Milk soaked shirts and
Blood stained shorts
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cried
Just by exploring my thoughts

They keep pestering me over and over
“How do you feel?
There are resources to make you feel okay”
I tell them “I ’m just trying to survive the day”

Throughout the process
My mind takes a hit
I grip onto my mind, my thoughts send shivers down my spine
I don’t recognise myself one bit