hotel beds

white pillows on bed beside window
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There’s something sexy about a hotel bed,

Sheets all mussed in morning light

As the gentle sound of highway traffic

Drifts through windows, triple glazed

For weary drivers to get their eight hours.

Slipping into air con rooms as skin will pucker

With pure delight, just knowing

Those cool white sheets spread like an ocean

And a duvet, too heavy to lift, but a comfort to hold,

Drifting to sleep on a mattress cloud,

And waking still covered, not tangled in sheets,

More like a princess in a story book,

Revived to life with a plastic kettle

And sachets of coffee like magical potions.

I love the dream of a hotel bed, even alone,

There’s just something there, something enticing

In the concrete haven off the M25.

she only went out for a bunch of grapes

grocery cart with item
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Her basket swung from the crook of her arm

As she browsed the blush of the apples and pears,

Wincing under the halogen lights, and waiting

To reach the aisle with the books and pens.

Trolley wheels squeak in the bean tin row

And a toddler screams at the till for sweets

That a mother knows is a terrible idea.

She grabs the shampoo, the gin and the frozen chips,

Anything to leave as quick as she can.

She only went out for a bunch of grapes

But that place, it grates on the nerves like nails

On a blackboard chalked up with arrogant sums.

She won’t go back, she thinks as she eats

The chips with her glass full to the top

With a brain soothing gin, like a surgery on

Her mind that will spasm with the darkest of pain.

the runaway mother

The baby sways upon her hip, and no one knows

The inner fight, the sharpened claws that scrape and scratch

At heart strings meant to hold, despite the battering that they may take.

Her body moves like second hands that tick the time

And count her down to 5am, when she will slip from dusky rooms

While children sleep and husbands hardly miss

The quiet work she did until she left, that day

She put her foot down, passed the slip road, headed north.

Responsibilities peeled away with every passing mile,

Borders crossed and burgers barely touched in service stations

They had counted as a family, on the road to Scottish holidays,

A happy time of camping out and hiking hills.

It’s changed though, something darkened with that birth

And now she cannot bare to dream, of days so joyous,

Of any light to pierce that heavy gloom. Leaving is the only choice,

She knows that road will lead nowhere, but distance helps,

It eases pain, that slowly got too much.

murder on the dance floor

gray disco ball on brown wooden surface
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We sat, side by side, at the discotheque,

Gripping bottles filled with blue green drinks

Smuggled in with bags and coats with pockets deeper

Than the bouncers dared to search.

The thud of music drifted out, your skin so clammy

Next to mine, cooling quickly in the winter air.

We dressed in skirts that covered nothing

While our shoulders stayed so bare,

Puckered with the goose flesh marking out the month.

You cried softly while I pressed my hand in yours.

He didn’t need to tell you on the floor

With joyous lights dancing over writhing limbs;

He didn’t need to say he loved her most

While she hovered by his side, looking down

At he battered heels, bought from Top Shop

In the days when high streets ruled the world.

Well, that time has vanished now,

Floating far away with love and childish dreams

And the puffs of icy breath, as we look

Towards a future so uncertain that we fear

We’re better off just dead,

Murdered on the sparsely loved dance floor.

shall we talk?

dry leafless trees in foggy woodland
Photo by Luca Paul on Pexels.com

Shall we talk about love on cotton clouds

On beds of pines that softly press below the feet

And shall we talk about the day we split

As branches pare from steadfast trunks

That dug their roots so many years ago

We’ll always walk like ghostly prints

Left behind in forests where the children run

We wish we’d made more effort to

Make permanent the words we spoke

Things we did, the skin we touched

But that’s as far as we can dream

On rainy afternoons we live like these.

my mother chose her sister over me and it really hurt

I don’t think that there’s any pain

That shoots through bodies with such searing pain

As the white rejection of a mother

Who’s chosen someone other

Branding skin with broken lines,

Ugly to the eyes.

They mark you out within a crowd

As one who’s never good enough.

My parents split up last year and my mum pushed me away too. No matter what I did to try and fix the situation, it just seemed to get worse and worse. Now she just listens to her sister and I can’t even have a dialogue with her without it having to go through my aunt.

I’m writing this to get it out in the air just how much that hurts. I think that the rejection of a mother must be the hardest pain to bear. To know that somebody who gave birth to you and raised you can’t stand to talk to you is so painful.

I guess I’ve always known that she doesn’t like me much and I think that it has led to a lot of the problems I’ve had in the past. I literally walk into situations already thinking that I’m going to fail, because if my own mother hates me then why should these other people like me?

I hope that there is a reason for this really painful time in my life because I feel like I’m nursing a broken heart. And I feel like everyone can see how hated I am which sometimes makes me just want to curl up and hide from the world.

Much Love

Rachel xx