The wind is howling; dashing gentlemen have gone away. Perturbed though I am, I do not wish they could have stayed. For their presence was an encumbrance, they meddled with my mind, seems boisterous to determine, my disinterest easy enough to find. I wish I could have run screaming, through the fields, because I was not made for manufactured love, bottled, predated, stamped illegally as a pull, begrudgingly made a deal.
There is no direction to be gleaned or sought after in a land of falsifications, damaged connections from the very beginning. And they terrified me so, I need firm structures, my mind stages, my personal growth, I did not need the round of dastardly gentlemen to approach and then court me — they’re unknowns.
I have my own energy, I breathe off each moment of respiration, counterfeit love potions become annihilations, and winding on the pavement it is easy enough to see, who has learned I’m not to meant to wed, to love, maintain, to be, unless it is freely?
© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev from Pexels
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