Children rush past me,

I hold on to the edge, no --


longer a mother.

The black fabric clings  
to my dampened skin  
in this oppressive heat,
while the sun beats down,
indifferent to my grief,  
making my loss heavier to bear.

I wear this darkness  
on the outside now,  
while the emptiness of loss  
ironically thrives within.  
How strange it is that colours speak  
what words I dare not say.

Black is not just a colour,  
but the weight of something lost,  
the saddest shade, absent of light,  
offering no relief in return, 
as I long for cooling breezes
that I cannot feel.

In this attire of sorrow,  
I walk through sunny days  
as a contradiction,  
I am a gloomy shade  
amidst summer's lively scenes,  
wearing my grief on my sleeve.

©️Lizzie Bevis

When you’ve done enough
The sorrow will fade in the lack of clear thoughts and the beats of a broken heart will eventually stop

I twirl my umbrella.
Not over me, since I'm far from excited,
or happy.

I stepped out into the rain after work.

Opening it
I realized,

it had a hole,

and is now worthless,
but I would hate to let it go.

My grandmother passed it down to my mother and my mother gave it to me.

Before she passed.

A sad old lady,
stubborn and empty.

This umbrella reminds me of that.
A part of her I hated,
but can’t let go of.

She was still my mother.

And so I twirl it,
closed and hidden,
to my right.

The same side she laid on.
When Grim came near.
There, she stared at me
with her glossy blue eyes
and said her last furrow-browed “Hello”.

guilt and shame
eating to blame
lack of control
lack of tame
the food comes in
the fat puffs out
if only cold turkey
didn’t sound so good right now

I know the mirror cannot lie
Yet I hope that somehow
Just this once
It is mistaken

I pray the girl I see
Looking back at me
Is not a reflection
But a figment of imagination

Her lonely eyes
Her wilted youth
Forgotten grace
Sorrowful face

Surely that empty shell
The mere remnant of a soul
Couldn't really be
All that's left of me

She carried the weight of the world
And was applauded for her strength

But the one meant to listen chose to speak
The one who spoke told lies
instead of truth

Lies that broke her trust

Shattered her heart

Crushed her soul

The weight of the world
was light as a feather
next to the weight of words,

they fell heavy as an anvil

Life is loss, pain
You move on, push past it
You write subroutines to deal
To ease, to distract, to bypass
Again and again until
You are more subroutine
Than you are yourself
And you wonder
At what point did pain
Become more relevant
To life
Than living?