We talk about each other as though we’re okay, but we are not, I’ve barely slept in days, I can feel the stretching within, the rot. This pains me because while you rest, plain to see, mind no longer ailing, but further proof that there is substantial evidence that crosses boundaries, from victim to the actual scene, what actually can be seen from the viewpoint of the abuser, the amuser, the difference, what is there? I think we need to go think. I do not feel the ability to shy away from reality is one of safety, in fact, from this safety I recoil, I don’t wish for anything to do with it. I can stand alone, stand on my own two feet, walk away or to or from my own throne, and this, this, my love, is substantial, because I’ve finally learned to conquer loneliness! The broken state in which all of us must have been, the tacky wet cloak which stifled our ability to easily breathe, I wonder, oh, I wonder, what’s waiting for me? What on the horizon is there: plain and obvious to see? © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.Photo by Ben White on Unsplash
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Very reflective lauren!
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It’s certainly not a cheap poem 👍
DMW Hancock
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