How can I say this plainly, unflowery, with truth? I’m frustrated, everything seems the same, nothing to experience or share, no news. I sit in my home and I try to create, I use my phone also to try to connect, but with others I feel a slackening bond, becoming further away from one other, is this now what it means to ‘get along’? We each exist in our own little bubble, Isolation, here are my troubles, you cause me troublesome moments which extend into the morning, from evening to before dawn my problems are still lingering. I am irritated and annoyed that there is nothing new to say, that there is something unwanted about the contents of my days, inextricable though the frustration may be, it encompasses every wholeness of my being. I cannot bring myself to bother anyone further, I simply exist in my own little bubble, I am trying to recover, from life, and its cruel intentions, what is it I must, we must, experience then? I do not know, but it will not do, it does not do, does not make me smile or wish to stay for a little while, in fact, from this world it makes me wish to up and leave. To leave behind the mess of boredom, the starched white collars of lonesome, the inability to converse when with others I just wanted to be myself. Perhaps we'll find a solution, perhaps I'll feel improving interaction, but for now I feel this 'lonesome', and nothing else for me appears to be calling. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash
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Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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