Poem: The Bite and the Snarl – 04/07/20

Where is the bite,
where is the snarl,
where is the slightly obnoxious
nature to my scrawl?
Why is – here –
softness shown
when all I wanted to portray was
bite, snarl, bite?
Isn’t it odd that
revealing vulnerability
can make me feel
so empowered then
sickly weak inside?
Like reaching to touch
the underside of a
floaty blue bottle jellyfish,
it is enticing, appears so tender,
yet danger silently lurks,
its mesmerising imposition,
the impending poison
speaks of
my scrawled pains, too.
I can rediscover my spikes,
my ability to cause chaos,
the alliteration,
the harsh 
ck ck ck,
no wide mouthed assonance,
no openly assessing audience tasked with
observing my aching abnormalities,
I’ll sink my teeth in,
create a toxic pair of punctures
for my poison to glide its way through.
Then the venom
can flood,
overwhelm this
Surviving Victim –
am I truly such a thing?
My latent negativity can
overwhelm them, you,
last night you subtly alerted me to this.
I have sadly travelled
throughout recent years
on a path of personal
bitterness which repels,
and negative swimming thoughts
toward myself,
they’re not purposeful,
but they are well practiced,
this bite has become well-worn.
Am I truly an overly grumbling entity
who should simply
brighten her mindset,
because that is
easier to see?
It’s not so simple,
I’ve lived with
snark and bitter tones
the last few years of my adult life,
I shall try, however,
to allow the kindness
to rise from beneath,
penetrate my being,
and speak such kinds words
to myself
because, maybe I am deserving of these.
Then, my acerbic tone may dissolve,
the cuts upon my paining tongue,
healed or removed,
whichever self-imposed punishments
I practice thrown away,
I can hopefully again be labelled as free,
having shed this layer,
this skin,
this disease,
of coldness, sadness, and dismay.
One can still retain the bite
without making the world feel uncomfortable.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Olya Adamovich from Pixabay

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