They mistake my softness for weakness,  
Like petals scattered in storms of hurt;  
Not seeing how deep my roots extend  
Through layers of wisdom and lessons learned.  

Each kind word I choose to speak  
Is backed by mountains moved in silence;  
Each tender touch I dare to give  
Springs from battles fought with resilience.  

I've learned that armour weighs down the spirit,
Thorns can wound the hand holding the stem;
While my quiet strength flows like morning light,  
Warming others without consuming them.  

So let them wonder at my gentleness,  
Let them question my peaceful stance;  
Because I have found that mighty rivers  
Flow with grace and not arrogance.  

In a world of sharpened daggers,  
I choose to be the sheltering tree,  
Not because I cannot withstand the storm,  
But because I’ve learned to just simply be.  

My strength lies in understanding  
That my heart does not need to prove,
The power that sustains its caring beat  
And the quiet force that dares to love.  

©️Lizzie Bevis

Some doors are meant to stay unopened,
Some questions left silent in the air,
Some chapters end without conclusion,
Some paths often lead to nowhere.

Not every story needs an ending,
Not every wound needs words to heal,
Not every heart requires mending,
Not every truth needs a big reveal.

There's wisdom in quietly leaving,
There’s grace in letting mysteries be,
There’s peace in simply believing
That what must flow will find the sea.

So loosen your grip on expectations,
Release the need to understand,
Accept the silent explanations,
Because it is not a part of your plan.

©️Lizzie Bevis

You read my poetry,
then turned away,  
as if the words
had nothing to say.  
Each line was a pulse,
it was a part of me,  
yet you drift on past,
too blind to see  
that my verses ache,
hoping to be heard,  
yet silence lingers,
louder than each word.  
The ink may fade,
but my feelings remain,  
as I laid my heart bare,
was it all in vain?

©️Lizzie Bevis

I wrote to you in broad bold letters.
I wrote it on a tree.

You know the one, remember
—it called to us from the middle of the garden.

Sassafras: our secret token.

Winter's stillbirth is soon upon us,
and our placement in the sun in peril.

But I have whispered it all to stones
now ****** into the sea.

Remember the tree, and pray I live long enough to dream in its hollow.