Family needs to

be lovely: each other's crown


witness, a party!

Oh how the saying makes me sick
And excuses, there are not
Devicive taunting, hate's mimic
Word's we weaponized from thought.
So, a new turn of phrase,
a saying born within the dark;
Is whispered to myself, alone,
                                                    A Sky-cyphers
Scribbled, trailing mark.
For the first and only time,
Not of me but you
These writing's wordings weave a web,
of synthesized virtue.
To be spoken allowed to oneself,
read, written or thought,
Of each word that's now misused- their purposes forgot.
examined, explained, investigated my life
As if speech were the blade, written words are the knife.

all of the meaning and every moral tethers to our mortal coil,
Life and it's significance-
A product of its transience.

The concept of fate & of destiny, too
Both insinuate journey, the movement through
But where is it- We're going to?
Home, its depths, are dreams of blue.

“Where were you?” I want to scream,
Through clenched teeth, against a distant dream.
You laugh, you live, you carry no chains,
Unseen, you are free from these bruising pains.

She whispered to me, only me, at her end,
Left me with words I can’t defend.
You weren’t there to feel her fading breath,
To witness the slow, soft steps toward death.

I carry the weight, the sorrow, the blame,
While you dance through life, without the shame.
Her voice lingers, soft as a wraith,
Leaving me torn between love and hate.

She asked for silence, a shroud unseen,
To bear her loss alone, as if in a dream.
I hold this burden close to my chest,
While you, untouched, move on at your best.

Do you feel her absence, hear her sigh?
Does her memory haunt you or pass you by?
A part of me resents the ease you feel,
While I stumble alone through a world so unreal.

I am her keeper, her secret grave,
Bound to the love that made me brave.
Yet, bitterness grows where peace should be,
An ache that burns yet sets me free.

I am scared for my sister
And I am scared for my brother
The world isn't kind and we hurt one another

I am scared for my brother
And I am scared for my sister
Scared since the first time that someone dismissed her

I am scared for my sister
And I am scared for my brother
That some will teach him not to respect our mother

I am scared for my brother
And I am scared for my sister
Scared that I will not trust those who have kissed her

I am scared for my sister
And I am scared for my brother
I want them to be safer than many of the others

I am scared for my brother
And I am scared for my sister

I am scared for them both, I think we all know why
But I am making this oath, I will NOT just stand by

Through the fence, we slipped,
scratched and torn,
but the world behind us
was nothing—
this was ours.

Rubber giants piled high,
a kingdom built from wreckage,
the smell of earth and metal
mixing with the air we claimed.
We whispered our plans,
wild as the grasshoppers we caught—
sting and laughter tangled together
as we spun tales of escape.

The owner’s anger didn’t faze us,
her shouts just wind
against the roar of our hearts.
We built our thrones
in crooked trees,
a couch our crown,
leaning like a dream too big to stand.
The go kart didn’t run,
but we rode it anyway,
down the hill that should’ve swallowed us whole,
laughing at danger,
at the world that couldn’t keep up.

Bruised and broken,
we held each other,
fighting wars we couldn’t win
except here,
in the tire club.
In this space,
we were never less than fierce,
our bond woven
with the secrets we kept
and the mischief we shared.
A sacred place—
where the world outside couldn’t touch us,
where we were fireproof,
surviving everything
but the burn of our own laughter.

He rubbed at his head, a stinging kind of numbness,
bloodied pieces of his own skin were stuck there now, he wiped it on his sweater
(that used to be blue, now it was mostly this muddy brown-purple color from the blood and dirt)
he thought for sure that he was dying, he was abandoned there,
out in some alleyway.
someone had taken him out to the garbage, he had no idea who, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
he leaned against the building, bleeding and thinking.
he wondered if he’d get a gravestone.
his mom was dead now, why would he?
he didn’t die that day
he got to live another year,
but he never did get a gravestone.

he was buried in his childhood home’s backyard,
a few steps away from where his sister was buried alive, he wondered where she was now that he knew she hadn’t died. he hoped she somehow found him. he hoped the tragedy of her little brother lying ****** in an unmarked grave was enough for her to forgive all he’d done.
he didn’t regret it,
it was always going to end this way.
he’d carry no guilt to his hole in the ground.

We stood together as brothers in arms.
Our side was small, both in stature and numbers.
Fighting daily battles, we knew the war was lost.
The tattered battlefield was a living room carpet.
We received no weapons, but our enemy did.
Armed with wooden spoons and open palms.
We retaliated with tears and with silent obedience.
The yelling in the house echoed like explosions.
In that grey one-story house, my siblings and I.
We stood together as brothers in arms.

Mile after mile,
the roads unwind,
and I'm squashed in the back,
in between my siblings' behinds,
while Dad croons to oldies,
off-key and loud,
Mum traces the map,
with her head bowed.

I count the trees,
it is a quiet game,
while my brother sleeps,
my sister is tamed.
A petrol station stop
breaks the drive,
the numbers roll up,
as Dad's wallet
barely survives.

Dad fills the tank,
and Mum's stern glance falls
on the mounting cost
that widen her eyeballs.
Dad settles up
and quickly returns
with snacks that are shared,
with momentary peace,
which is soon impaired.

"Stop touching me!"
my sister cries,
as my brother grins
with mischievous eyes
and I, caught in the middle
attempt to mediate,
"Look, a cow!"
in a desperate escape.

Soon after trying
to tame the urge,
our bladders expand
fit to burst,
as bathroom plea's cry out
with a desperate will
our three voices rising
loud and shrill.

The Ross-on-Wye's sign
comes into view,
as my fingers twist
through my hair now askew.
We turn onto Junction 24,
and I look around everywhere,
my excitement building
beyond compare.

Aunty Bee's wedding day
waits ahead,
and I shamelessly have crumbs
all over my dress.
This is quickly followed
by Mum's horrified look,
as Dad pulls the car aside,
as we tumble out of the back
with smiles big and wide.

Mum brushes crumbs
from our smart attire,
and tames my hair
with her maternal fire.
My brother and Dad
turn as their eyes meet
and with perfect timing,
he asks "Are we there yet?"

Dad rolls his eyes and sighs
"Just 30 more minutes son."
I think our Dad will be glad
when this journey is done.

©️Lizzie Bevis