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i know i am an abomination
i know you wish i were never born
i know that my existence defines your ruin
well guess what?
me.
f**king.
too.
i do not wish to be here.
i never asked for this.
and yet,
i love you endlessly.
and i always will
for i do not know anything else.

i do not know a world where i have not loved you and you have not hurt me

i was all but 7,
the first time i hated the number i saw on the scale.
u fed that to me.
and 7 year old me,
all she wanted was to become the version of herself that was worthy of your love.
i know that i am not worthy of your love.
i know.
and i'm sorry..
this will NEVER find you.
No,
not every poem
needs to bloom
with romance
to make a heart grow
full and wise;
There is poetry
found in survival,
in unhappy endings
and goodbyes.
Not every poem
must woo the reader,
or make their yearning soar,
some poems taste
like bitter coffee grounds
and nothing much like love.

©️Lizzie Bevis
Blank canvas,
A bucket of paint,
I took that bucket,
And I chucked it.
Green blues until,
I had a landscape of Nantucket.
I threw the paint,
And just said '---- --'
I haven't painted in a while but it's fun
 Mar 12 inkedsolace
Ovid
Lovers all are soldiers, and Cupid has his campaigns:
I tell you, Atticus, lovers all are soldiers.
Youth is fit for war, and also fit for Venus.
Imagine an aged soldier, an elderly lover!
A general looks for spirit in his brave soldiery;
a pretty girl wants spirit in her companions.
Both stay up all night long, and each sleeps on the ground;
one guards his mistress's doorway, one his general's.
The soldier's lot requires far journeys; send his girl,
the zealous lover will follow her anywhere.
He'll cross the glowering mountains, the rivers swollen with storm;
he'll tread a pathway through the heaped-up snows;
and never whine of raging Eurus when he sets sail
or wait for stars propitious for his voyage.
Who but lovers and soldiers endure the chill of night,
and blizzards interspersed with driving rain?
The soldier reconnoiters among the dangerous foe;
the lover spies to learn his rival's plans.
Soldiers besiege strong cities; lovers, a harsh girl's home;
one storms town gates, the other storms house doors.
It's clever strategy to raid a sleeping foe
and slay an unarmed host by force of arms.
(That's how the troops of Thracian Rhesus met their doom,
and you, O captive steeds, forsook your master.)
Well, lovers take advantage of husbands when they sleep,
launching surprise attacks while the enemy snores.
To slip through bands of guards and watchful sentinels
is always the soldier's mission - and the lover's.
Mars wavers; Venus flutters: the conquered rise again,
and those you'd think could never fall, lie low.
So those who like to say that love is indolent
should stop: Love is the soul of enterprise.
Sad Achilles burns for Briseis, his lost darling:
Trojans, smash the Greeks' power while you may!
From Andromache's embrace Hector went to war;
his own wife set the helmet on his head;
and High King Agamemnon, looking on Priam's child,
was stunned (they say) by the Maenad's flowing hair.
And Mars himself was trapped in The Artificer's bonds:
no tale was more notorious in heaven.
I too was once an idler, born for careless ease;
my shady couch had made my spirit soft.
But care for a lovely girl aroused me from my sloth
and bid me to enlist in her campaign.
So now you see me forceful, in combat all night long.
If you want a life of action, fall in love.
 Mar 12 inkedsolace
Sappho
I have no complaint
prosperity that
the golden Muses
gave me was no
delusion: dead, I
won't be forgotten
 Mar 12 inkedsolace
Sappho
I took my lyre and said:
Come now, my heavenly
tortoise shell: become
a speaking instrument
How I wonder what you're at!'You know the song, perhaps?" "I've heard something like it," said Alice. "It goes on, you know," the Hatter continued,
"in this way: -- --
'Up above the world you fly,
Like a teatray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle --'"
Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.

Let ever hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift,
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.

And when the hour arrives, be there,
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.

If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest

Better to be before you time,
Than e're to be behind;
To open the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind.

Moral:

Let punctuality and care
Seize every flitting hour,
So shalt thou cull a floweret fair,
E'en from a fading flower
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