makeup and mothers

Pots and vials and plastic tubes,

I had a few of each, spread across the table.

“You’ll be needing some of that,”

She whispered in my ear.

I shrugged her off dismissively,

But still I reached and grabbed the pot.

I felt her sneer, it burned its way into my back,

Both cold and hot, all at once,

A special skill she’d mastered long ago.

Dutifully, I smeared it on,

I covered every blemish, every pore.

That was what she wanted.

My mother always focused on my flaws.

Long ago I’d lost the confidence

To show my face without its painted mask.

She’d told me that it needed hiding.

The world, it didn’t want to see,

What was lurking underneath,

The building blocks that she had given me.

After all, it was her who formed me in the womb.

Half of me was all of her and that was more than she could take.

If I was less than perfect, then what did that make her?

Better fill my stocking with

The very best that she could buy.

To conceal and colour, to offer a foundation

On which a perfect lie is told,

A lie that paints us in a better light

And keeps our ugly secrets firmly out of sight.

Why the hell do we wear makeup if not to cover up who we really are? I was always getting makeup from my mum. There would always be a little something in my stocking each year even though I never actually wear makeup all that often. I sometimes wonder if the reason she wanted to buy it for me was because she didn’t like what she saw. Maybe she saw the bits of herself that she didn’t like when she looked in the mirror?

Mums do tend to have a way of being super critical and I think a lot of it is because we hope that our kids are going to be a better version of ourselves. But everyone on the planet is flawed and so we are always going to be a little bit disappointed if we put all of our hopes and dreams in another human being.

I do like to play around with makeup every now and then but I refuse to let anyone make me feel like I’m less of a person if I don’t wear it. We’re all beautiful in our own way and we should be proud of the people we are even though we have flaws in both our physical appearance and our personality.

Love who you are and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Much Love,

Rachel xx

flowers on the side of the road

I stooped and touched the drooping petals,

I guessed those flowers had been there

For several weeks at least.

Cellophane all cracked and crumpled,

And a greeting card that’s long since disappeared.

I wondered how the person these were for

Had died, had perished, lost their life.

I wondered if they had a spouse or kids,

Or anyone who missed them dearly, now that they were gone.

And then my thoughts, they trailed away,

To my own life and my own pain.

I missed her even though she lived.

But the breaking of those bonds,

Were just as violent and severe.

I missed her with the same intensity

That I would feel if I were taping flowers to this tree.

She’s gone, not dead, but vanished from my life.

Perhaps I need to buy some flowers,

Make a little grave to mark

The passing of a love that’s done.

Then perhaps I’ll find a way to put her ghost to rest

And remove this heavy weight that’s rested on my chest.

I miss my mum so much. She’s not died but she has cut me out of her life completely and I have found that some of the things I say to people make it sound like she is no longer here at all. I’m so sad about everything that has happened that I just want to put it all to rest. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t give up on the hope that I might get her back. I can’t have the ‘funeral’ because there is so much uncertainty. And I love her and would have her back in a heartbeat.

If you are mourning the end of a relationship I hope that you are staying strong and looking after yourself. Just be open and ready if the person does want to reconcile because hatred is a horrible and energy draining emotion.

Much Love,

Rachel xx