Poem: Pins and Pulp – 06/01/20

 I have not been outside in days,
 huddled down in my cocoon I have encased myself 
 with stinging words and florid phrases,
 distinctive patterns to my ears,
 though perhaps not to others.
 Alone, I sing of times of freedom, absolution, and success,
 upon reflection, these moments were 
 anything but what I felt,
 I operated without thought
 compelled by blind impulse.
 I travel through my memories,
 each milestone like multiple pins spearing my 
 fragile, pulpy skin,
 these lumpy layers wrapped around my form 
 trying to keep the embarrassment in.
 It is easy enough to pluck the obliging weapons
 to watch the paper fall clean away
 and I am bone and sinew and muscle,
 each vein carries a pulse and a motto 
 where one must squint in order to readily discern.
 go forth go forth
 one repeats, red and richly
 never look back
 you’ll meet your match
 forget the past 
 other veins bleed.
 Hastily I grab the loose sheets to wrap myself anew,
 a mummy living before your very eyes,
 while bloodied, I heal enough 
 to reveal subtle poignant truths.

 But there is a filter which needs to be retained,
 a breathing apparatus which saves while one's submerged -
 for some revelations can only go one way.
 I decide I'm fixed enough,
 at least for now, I will rest,
 there's nothing left which I would like to say. 
 © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
 All images signed “LMH” 
 are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
 and all rights reserved. 

 Image credit: Eva Sandoval

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