An Open Letter to Vera Machete
Dear Friend,
Please excuse the vulgarity of my pursuing this plea publicly.
I’m looking, you see, for clarity,
There’s some disparity between
How I imagined it would be, and the truth of the situation,
I’m struggling, Vera, with motivation, I’m chasing my tail,
I’m feeling dizzy and sick; I was woefully wrong; it was me,
I’m the prick.
But I hated you, Vera, I’ve catalogued and filed,
Every miserable misdemeanour
Every dire decision that was made on your watch,
Some of your fuck ups Vera, they were real top notch.
Fun though.
Bobbing, weaving, screeching and screaming
Bold believing in our big dreaming
Hard working, quick thinking, straight talking, love giving, cause fighting, risk taking.
Silly, sassy, and yeah, sexy sometimes…
A scary capacity to push boundary lines.
I was you and you were me.
Isn’t that every little girl’s dream?
A bestest best friend, a true partner in crime
And for the best part of thirty years, Vera, you were mine.
Boring basic little old me, basking in your energy,
Cavorting in your creativity, pretending I had a personality.
Never passive, always active, perceptive, receptive, directive, productive, instructive,
That motivation was seductive,
The religion of dreams.
A busy little bee with ambitions to be Queen.
You are aggressive, Vera, you are pushy and loud,
And when she came along, well, three was a crowd.
You were bored, Vera, I remember, the sighing, the crying, the pissing and moaning,
The teasing temptation of job applications, fixations and vexations.
Changing location, fearing stagnation, my constant frustration.
She needed strong foundations: clear expectations.
A responsible head of operations.
So, with a flick of the switch, I turned you off.
Pushed you down deep inside,
[click]
I am enough.
Breakfast, school run, Mum's job, you see!
Repeat every day, easy as can be.
It’s just for her, this is stability.
I don’t daydream or plan big: embrace humility.
It’s called putting another life ahead of my own.
Oh, Vera, you should see how she’s grown.
And that sort of brings me to the reason I’m writing,
I’m not enough, Vera … and it’s really frightening.
Let me tell you about her, the details are compelling.
Never sits still, shit at maths, doesn’t care about spelling.
Notebook after notebook stuffed under the bed,
Story after story just pours from her pen.
Never quite where she is supposed to be,
But unapologetic: just does not seem to get it.
Please sit down, I say, turn around, and of course she’s away,
Dancing, singing, drumming, playing.
Never sedate, always creating.
When she looks deep into my eyes
I know she is looking for you,
We need you, Vera - that is the truth.
I know you haven’t completely gone away,
I felt your spark when I watched her smash the school play,
And I felt your vitriol catch in my throat.
That little troll that bullied her really got your goat…
When we are stomping our socks off at a festival in the summer
I feel you lift her above your head, so soothed to be her mother.
So, I've made a plan, Vera, it's brilliant, you'll see,
I've enrolled you, Vera, on an English Degree
I just really need you to turn up and shine,
To give me the edge without cutting this time.
Do understand that this is not just an apology,
I'm surrendering to the biology and psychology,
Reassessing my ideology and finding that it's logically
And possibly quite obviously, a most rewarding policy.
To put together parts of me: see my reflection honestly.
Push aside what was petrified and petty,
Feel alive and electrified yet steady.
We can be one once more if you’ll let me.
Please read this and come home, Vera Machete.
I am a mature student set to graduate from university with a degree in English & Creative Writing this summer. This is a poem I wrote at the start of that degree, whilst processing my 'impostor syndrome', perimenopause and neurodivergence. I have spent my spare time over the last three years performing my poetry anywhere I can. I am the winner of last year's Hip Yack Poetry Shack SLAM, and my prize was a slot on the poetry stage at last year's WOMAD festival. I have been published by the Poetry Edit, Scribbled, Pen to Print and the Burnham Literary Festival anthology 2024. I am involved in several creative projects, including promotion for Frome's sell-out quarterly poetry event Dirty Laundry.