To me, you'll always be a burgeoning carnation beside withered tulips,
You never fail to shield me like how the moon stitches itself to the sun in a solar eclipse.

I want to do the same for you, but don't know how to mend anything when the seams of your tapestry brittle,
I can't embroider, nor can I sew but if it's for you, I'll try, little by little,

If you'll let my thread pass your torn fabric, I promise to tend as well as I can,
Even if my fingers become indigo with tedium, I'll intertwine with all I am.

Silken heart of the purest fragility,
Luminescent in ebony, but still supple with tranquillity.

I'd like to be the same for you, but I don't know how to be anything more than bitter candlelight,
I can't give the lustre you need, but I'll try, in hopes one day I might,

If one dusk, I'm even a flitter more to you than a *** of wax sat on your windowsill,
If that ever happens, to give you light, I'll perch forever content, without an Until.

Love shouldn't feel like shattered glass,
Or tears that flow as moments pass.
I learnt that caring wasnt enough,
When gentle hearts are treated rough.

The door closes softly as I depart,
A final goodbye, a new fresh start.
Though leaving breaks me piece by piece,
Staying would steal my inner peace.

Sometimes love means walking away,
Despite the price we have to pay.
For in the end, I've come to see,
The greatest love is setting myself free.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Words they dance on paper, as my body loses strength.

My mind it races onwards, as my soul feels it may fade.

This pen keeps on writing, as my heart forgets to beat.

Every time I open up, another piece of me is ripped from my story.

My binding is bent and worn, with every page torn.

Once I was a fantasy, a story they could not wait to see.

As they read right through me, skimming every page-
the words for volume two, slowly came to view.

Drafts are left unfinished, the story more diminished.

Lonely ink spots, point out the unraveling plots.

I can write all on my own but I wanted to collaborate,
each new character felt like a twist of fate.

I studied every line, every single quote.
Looking for deeper meaning, but in the end it's all they wrote.

No after word, no biography-
not a single explanation as to why they never chose me.

Here's my dedication, I should always put myself first.
I am the author and the story, never unversed.

As long as my words are still written, this light inside could never be fully hidden.

Bring me home, if you want to write in permanent ink, if you won't leave me to myself.
Those that cannot understand and truly love the novel I am, then please I ask all you borrowers, just leave me on the shelf.

I notice  
when people treat me differently,  
the subtle shifts in their smiles,  
and a coldness beneath their words.  

I notice  
when they weave their lies,  
assuming I’m too gullible to see  
the threads of truth unravelling.  

I notice  
when I’m left out of the plan,  
a ghost in conversations,  
I become an option, not a choice.  

I notice  
the awkwardness in their glances,  
the way kindness wears a mask,  
hiding intentions behind pleasantries.  

I notice  
when I’m a pawn in their game,  
used for someone else’s gain,  
my worth measured by their needs.  

I notice
so don’t mistake my silence for naivety.  
I’m sharper than you think.  
I’m not blind; I notice everything.

©️Lizzie Bevis