Friday, 9 December 2016

A house that wasn't mine | Poem

This morning I woke up, in a house that wasn’t mine,
I don’t know how I got here, maybe too much wine?
I stand to look out the window, to see where I might be,
Nothing looks familiar, and I’ve never seen that tree.
I head for the door, but realise I’m not dressed,
Where did I put my clothes? This is not me at my best!
I head for the wardrobe, there’ll be something there,
But it’s full of frumpy old people clothes, nothing I can wear!
I really do not drink that much, how can this be?
I’ve never strayed from home before, I’m only twenty three!
I begin to panic; I’ve no memory of arriving here,
Maybe I’ve been kidnapped?! My brain floods with fear.
There’s a tap on the door, and a lady whispers “Pam?”
I don’t know who she is, but it’s certainly not my mam.
My eyes dart around the room, looking for a phone,
Where am I? Who is she? Please just get me home!
I grab the quilt, cover up and make my way across the floor,
Afraid of what may greet me on the other side of the door.
I stumble in front of the mirror, and land right on my knee,
I look up, who’s that old lady? Oh my god, she’s me.

- Carers UK creative writing competition

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