I’m a little unsure of this one, this piece I have to present, I hesitantly amble downstairs, I know they’re resting; both have had their daily energies well spent. I know I’ve already asked and presented, but, here I go again, a final request for their critique, their feedback, because I’m unsure whether to publish, to share, or retain it. Upon listening carefully, a set of eyes display concern, furrowed brow, pursed mouth, a negative reaction emitted, from lips to be learned, shrapnel flies, from a tongue with barbed words. My words have been gravely misunderstood – how could I have been perceived so wrongly? My intentions, my messages, my nuances, swept away, in place of misinterpreted messages, which have been incorrectly heard. I turn to the other listener, this afternoon, the piece was well received, now with further digging, and their expanded explanation, I realise another negative reaction is also breathed. I reel, self-defensive, in a critical daze, I defend my words hastily, clumsily, I fight to show my words aren’t as they say. I try to marry my feelings of slight hurt with the knowledge that I must treasure such honesty within my home, that I’m not afforded mere lip service to please, that occasional brutal truth communicated after the fact which may sting, is supposed to make me realise my errors, my unintentional mistakes, because for them, perhaps my words hit home, and theirs weren’t targets I was aiming to take. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Muhammad Haseeb Muhammad Suleman from Pixabay
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Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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