Sitting in my room,
time drags, slow and heavy.
Is this what it means to mature?
Sitting, studying, working—
or does the weight of it make me feel grown?

I feel tired,
yet the hours demand more.
Working, working...
this night stretches long,
a weary silence pressing in.

Barking sounds stir me—
had I drifted off?
Is this what it means to mature?

I stared at my monstrosities, I looked them in the eye.

Silent in their darkness, I spoke.

“I forgive you,” I whispered, breaking their gaze.

It reached for me

Pulled into an embrace, its vines tangled around me, its eyes locked on mine

Resistance made the vines tighten

I let it in

Our embrace turned into melting and melting into growth,

creation

I looked into the mirror expecting to see a monster,

but all I saw was a human,
flesh and blood,

and darkness too

I never loved me
But loved you til I forgot
How to hate myself

Tears burn away like flowers –
Weeds tested by the flames; it’s
Euthanasia, as we put down your regrets
Spelling errors; the mistakes to your life story

We’ve stuck them up across on these walls,
Like magazine cut-outs, those many pictures
In a mind’s room – all the things a child inspired
To be; sourced drawings from thoughts, hopes
And dreams; blood and tears as ink

Tears burn away like flowers –
Digging for them with a ***; it’s
Cognitive, thinking about your very past
Moulding; what hurt us then, shapes us now

My face is moulding clay; heated up for use.

They did not know who I'd be,
I was a child back then, not yet set free.
Each wound they left became a door
Through which my naked pain would pour.

The child they knew has long since fled,
And as time passed my tears were shed.
They have my photograph old and worn,
While I became a woman scorned.

How great it is to know that they cannot see
The strength that has grown wild inside of me.
Their story is over, that page has turned,
Their privilege was lost and lessons were learned.

Let them keep their faded view
Of someone they once long ago knew,
As they hold firmly onto the past
While I am free to fly at last.

©️Lizzie Bevis

You like thought puzzles?
Well consider this,

A boy and a girl
Board a train
Desperate to escape the rain
And bump into each other
Due to one hour of travel
Because of one hour of time
A man and a woman walk out

Does maturity
dress itself
just to fit in
while your
raw
spirit
undresses it
every
single
time?

My backyard is like the Garden of Eden;
Where birds flourish freely, so too do lizards and worms.
I find myself opening my doors seemingly, 
to welcome the sounds of nature.
But it's also to entice me out to the heartwarmingly,
tree-lined places where I can hide my faces,
And be one, meekly, at first, then more boldly;
Naked and brazen, absent of hazing,
to sit, listen and write poetry.

Life is about giving
back instead of taking.
I took a lot all my life,
apathetic and selfish.
When I see people today,
they don't look like marks.
I don't think about what I
can take from them.
They are God's handiwork.

Life is strange and short.
I couldn't have caused this
inner transition.
I always subscribed to
morality in theory.
Thank God,
the blind still receives sight.

Sometimes, acquaintances will say
that I've grown soft
as they turn to green jello, right
before my eyes.