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POEM: SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED

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

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POEM: AUTHENTICITY

AUTHENTICITY


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. 

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