Space Dust

I am not God. Apparently. 
Well. That’s what they say. 
But then. Who are ‘they’ anyway. 

It’s only me inside here. 
This body of mine. 
Wondering on how much time I have left to ‘play’. 

If I play my cards right. It could be plentiful. 
But should I remove myself from the pillar… 
…and perhaps use my dreams to help me consider. 
That there is. Another power. Greater than I. 

Look to the moon! The stars! The sky!
The space dust as it floats on by!

Floats on by. 

Nature knocking humans to their knees. 
That’s what I want to see! 

‘Thou shalt not fritter! 
These gifts you’ve been given!’
The stormy sky screeches 
Nature sets the rules. A flash of thunder! 

I must remember 
Remember to listen. 
‘You are not God’ the Earth whispers. 
No. I’m not I remember. 
As I give in. To nature. 

Becki Burrows, August 2019


Summers High Clouds

It rained all day
All fucking day
“Learn to dance in the storms” they say.
“Meditate, relax, reflect 
Life has it’s ups and downs”
“Life IS a storm” I say
One big fat ANGRY storm!
I turn my back
And face the wall.
Not today. Just not today. 
With your spot on quotes 
I take a breath. And sigh. 
Because yes. I know it’s good advice. 
But let me wallow a little longer. 
Let me taste the blissful pain 
of the rain as I wonder. 

Ok. I take a breath. 
I’ll learn to dance in the storm.
I say. 

But maybe. Maybe. Just not today. 

Becki Burrows, August 2019

(artist picture Christopher Cuseo)



I am an STD, hidden beneath
Lurking in the unseen,
Shamed for being me
A virus permeating. If you catch me..

You’ll be dirty too, so stay away.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
About my negativity.

But it wasn’t my fault.
It was passed on to me.

I thought it was love.
Well that’s what he told me.

Sharing is caring.
That’s what he’d said to me.

Don’t you.. look at me with your judgmental eyes.

You see… you don’t see.

You don’t really see me.
You just see what you want to see.

Look deep, look down.
Oh yep! There’s the frown.
You look disappointed…
Don’t worry. You can’t be as disappointed as me.

The echo’s get louder.

‘You don’t love yourself’ says he.
‘That’s not true…’ says me.
‘You lied.
You took what you wanted.
You rolled the die.
You left me here.
Did you think I’d cry?’

He laughs. That laugh. Infectiously.

But this time.

I see.
It’s not too late.

‘Catch’ he throws…
‘No thanks’ I reply..

I walk away.

‘How ridiculous’.. I think.
Just then. I thought that STD was me.

Written by Becki Burrows

May 2018

©Copyright owned Rebecca Burrows 2007




Who are you.
I look behind the mask you wear.
Your fake smile and your well cut hair.

I look into your eyes. And yet.. you stare. Blankly.

At me.

Who are you? I wonder.

Can I trust you? You in the trackie bottoms
And the scruffy hair.

And I think…
Are we really going to be defined by what we wear?

Prada, ADIDAS, Primark, CARHARTT
Stupid big names that have made their mark.
On you. On me.. on all of us here.

We wear these dumb labels with pride. And…

Yet I ponder. Who am I?

Stripped naked I see you stand and shiver.

Too masked in the pressure,
To stand up and stand tall.
Until one day.

The tears bleed out.. rolling down your cheeks like a waterfall.

I look.
And I see you.
Because it’s just like a mirror.

What was it all for?
Your eyes request an answer.
An answer.
An answer I do not have.
And so I shrug back.
‘Life is pain’ and that’s a fact.
Just don’t be afraid.
This too shall pass.

And he removes the mask.
‘Do you like what you see?’ he asks.

It really. It really doesn’t matter to me.

Smiling gently…the mirrored image
Disappears back into the glass.

And there I am.
Left with me.


Dedicated to all those I have met on my journey. To all those I haven’t met yet. And to those simply passing by. I wish you all well.. 

Written by Becki Burrows

Everything written on this website is copyright protected. 


I… have written a poem. For International Women’s Day… #internationalwomensday
by Rebecca Burrows
The soft and safe space of my mothers womb
I sleep and grow.. comfortable in my warm cocoon.
No need to come out in to the world just yet.
Quite happy here thanks! Despite the fact it’s rather small and wet.
Trials and tribulations await. But I will not know this until I’m fully awake.
And as time ticks and I’m forced to come out..
My resistance kicks in and I scream and I shout.
The cold air strikes and hits my face.
Fear kicks in and tells me this could be a cruel place.
The days pass by…and I work hard as a good girl might.
Wash the dishes, be quiet, sit still and not shout.
Little girls do not scream, play with boys or go out.
Study more, eat less, play with dolls, wear a dress.
Only good girls do well.. those who curtsy to guests.
‘A mayde schuld be seen, but not herd.’
The old saying goes.
“So take that! And shut up!” the ole man moans.
But why?! The girl asks herself as she’s left in the house.
With a hoover,
The iron, and an ole dusty shelf.
“And don’t fuss!” he bellows as he takes the boys out.
“It’s not fair..” she whispers to the small little mouse
Before grabbing the broom and chasing it out…
Left behind. Clean the house! What’s the point of all this?
Scribbling in her diary which she hides behind the shelf.
“When I grow up…” she neatly writes down (in secret code – just in case it is found!)
“I will never marry a man like..hmmm” she scribbles with a frown.
And as the days pass by, and she grows up and moves on.
The marks on her body have taught her to just ‘bite her tongue’…
“You want equality? Well doors open no more!” the suited man laughs
As he goes on ahead slamming the door made of glass.
She wanders on behind with a shattered heart.
“Equal pay? Go away! And how dare you ask!.. Do you really think you’re as good as a man at the task?!”
“You tweeted #metoo.. er no job for you. Calling rape *all the time…let’s make THAT a crime!”
“It was simply a slight little pat on the arse!”
“But how do you know.. were you there..” she asks.
“Read the papers” the arrogant man laughs.
“Do you really think it’s that easy to pass…
Such a crime through CPS” her anger sparked…
“And what about not trusting everything we read where’s that gone!?” she starts to plead..
“Oh Sit down! Shut up! And chill the fuck out…stop complaining, stop moaning.
And stop making out… you’re so ‘hard done by’ just be a good little girl and help me out”
“Too skinny, too fat, too educated or too thick.”
“Too weak, too sensitive.. and you’ve not got a dick.”
“You’ll never win” the guy slyly laughs…
“But THEN… since equality’s in.. let’s pay halves”
He winks.
And she decides to do what society has taught her she should.
Keeps her mouth shut. Takes a slug of her drink. Just be appeasing. And just act ‘good’.
I will leave this with the Aretha Franklin’s epic tune ‘Respect’
Close Me
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