Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

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  • Poem: They Called You Average – 28/08/20

    Poem: They Called You Average – 28/08/20

    So, they called you average.
What is 'average' anyway?
Are you going to let their taunts get in your way?
Or will you rise, will you soar above the judgments, their negativity?
For some though, they’re more inclined to sink
and this image is more than dreary.

Some hearts can break at the slightest twinge
of criticism,
the human twang of strummed attack,
average, average, average,
is this what you are?
No, my darling, my dear,
I’ll speak of their words as if I’m 
breaking forth from Criticism’s prison with ease.

Awaken at every moment that you’re challenged
about who you are,
average is as average does,
this you are not,
and let me tell you this:
these taunts are coming from afar.

They are nonsense,
they are preying upon your insecurities,
in fact, can you now hear the echoes of their words
within the reverberation of your quiet words,
their intentions clearly seen?

Because to bring another down is cowardly and unkind,
why use such words with such power
to cause a sense of worthlessness,
a light removed from their eyes?
The shine of self-confidence and hope can sadly lose their gleam.

But average you are not,
never,
you outshine those letters arranged and intended cruelly,
hear my words instead,
you are amazing and strong and true,
allow your confidence to rise through and through.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Houcine Ncib on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Finding the Inner Strength – 26/08/20

    Poem: Finding the Inner Strength – 26/08/20

    I am stronger than I perceive myself to be,
even with the massive doubts I cast upon me,
I am not withering inside,
shadows covering my soul,
no, I am strong,
almost invincible.

I am positive,
even though I wonder and question my skills,
I am wise even if I’m struggling,
I can make it through this,
stand erect,
proudly,
I will, I will, I will.

Heaven knows how hard I am trying to 'be',
trying to make it through struggles,
my internal catastrophes.

I will wear a smile,
stop asking others so many questions,
for guidance, assurance,
validation,

I will become the confident woman I still am,
not once was, but who I am still,
I will direct myself through life stridently,
with my wooden oars,
glide elegantly through the current, I will.

I’ll guide this rowboat on a path of my own,
I’ll stop this nonsense swimming in my head,
this overwhelming self-doubt,
and I’ll convince myself that there’s nothing to fear,
I will make it through these trying times,
just watch me, my dears.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash

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  • Poem: After a Burst of Positivity – 25/08/20

    Poem: After a Burst of Positivity – 25/08/20

    It doesn’t matter how bad life gets,
hope can still trickle into view,
positivity like a painted, beaming smile
on a canvas reminding us that
a positive perspective is the
correct view.
 
No need to succumb to despair,
I know it can be difficult
but know there will always be at least someone there
with a shine in their eyes,
an offered brightness to your day.
 
And then with you,
an ability to look outside of yourself,
not introvert,
but bloom,
share what’s within
our hearts, our minds,
what they have to say.
 
Do not view yourself in the negative light
some may wish to behold,
brighten, with hope,
you’ve so many tales to share and tell,
 
Broaden your horizons
further than just your despair,
because, in doing so,
you can inspire others to reach out
from their pains,
this can be accomplished almost anywhere.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Lesly Juarez on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Aloud – 24/08/20

    Poem: Aloud – 24/08/20

    These four walls are like a haven
but to some, they could be misconstrued as a prison.
I choose to reside here, taking my meals and my naps,
 
speaking at length, researching, creating, typing in bursts,
it is my little home, it is my little world,
and I only leave when I’ve need to –
 
I’m isolating myself, I know.
 
I should be downstairs,
spending time with my others,
socialising, eating together, taking tea together and our suppers,
 
but I somehow just want to be alone,
I reach out when I feel on my own,
but, the fact of the matter is, I’m learning to like my own company.
 
No desperate yearning for an unknown other,
to fulfil my life, to make me feel as though
I’m emotionally satisfied,
 
no ongoing calls to different people to
find the right one
in fact, I have enough love in my world to peruse,
 
and while alone, I can be whoever, whatever I want,
no need to put on false pretenses,
I can read, I can sleep with ease,
 
and the truth is that I know I won’t be judged
for spending time alone,
this is how I am getting to know myself.
 
And I’m really enjoying it,
I have to say this
aloud.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Leohoho on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Wildflowers – 23/08/20

    Poem: Wildflowers – 23/08/20

    Wildflowers aren’t only beautiful because they’re free,
they beckon to us from between the blades of grass,
thick trunks of trees,
their scent permeates the fields,
tickles our noses when we bend to admire,
we must understand their beauty’s power.
 
They are softer in texture than they look,
just like many of us, who carry our hearts hidden
within beating grasp of tightened fists,
scared, afraid to show ourselves to others,
in the magic that may unfold,
we should realise, like wildflowers,
we are wondrous, and should free ourselves,
herald our brightness to the days and
reign with our internal strength and power.
 
And at night we rest,
like wildflowers calling,
breathing quietly,
respiring,
and know that we can recharge 
like the blooms for the night,
rest in a group yet still in folded solitude,
our delights,
we will open once more in the morning,
if we dare be brave,
our arms outstretched like petals,
mouths wide open and yawning,
our hearts presently unfolding,
we call to be found like those 
wildflowers of the forest.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Murmur – 23/08/20

    Poem: Murmur – 23/08/20

    I murmur into the darkness,
whisper softly,
I breathe,
 
complex heart-song,
twisted tuning,
haunted melodies,
 
I open my eyes
only to see
a triptych of beauty,
 
artistic finery,
talent conjoined
with colour refined in shades only for me.
 
I murmur,
I murmur,
I murmur,
 
softly, now, see?
I traverse through my mind,
my brightness the spotlight
 
which allows me
to see the artist’s
work, one of a kind, freely.
 
Internally I heave,
and I breathe,
heavier still,
 
and I postulate that this
will be everything
that I have ever wanted,
 
needed,
been required
to ever see.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Alexandr Ivanov from Pixabay

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  • Poem: Brave – 20/08/20

    Poem: Brave – 20/08/20

    This is dedicated to my mother.

To be brave means to ignore that knot in your stomach,
to fight its twists and turns,
to be resilient within oneself,
to know all will be fine even if there’s a chance it won’t.
 
To be brave is to put on that face of strength
for your friends and family,
to not allow yourself to crumble within,
to take everything within your stride,
to face this with a smile,
a smirk, a grin.
 
To be brave is to research absolutely everything,
to be most informed means to be most prepared
for if all the details and statistics are known,
does this not mean a more intelligible road?
 
You are brave --
I can hear and see the positivity
in your words and eyes,
not once have I seen a tear shed,
body curled in suffering or misery within your bed,
and most certainly it’s because I know
that for you, yourself,
you understand you must be strong.
 
To make it through this with positivity and hope,
there is hope you’ll get through it soon enough,
this is the means through which you cope.
 
We are here for you at every turn,
here to offer calming cups of warm water,
or offer company, to sit quietly,
you bravely speak with close others
of the path ahead
as though its nothing,
nothing to worry about,
because you, you know you will mend.
 
There is only brokenness within,
and it’s a physical not mental state,
I never see any signs of mental suffering,
perhaps you hide it away from me,
expel it softly in your room when it becomes very late.
 
But for your journey,
you have no need to prove that you are brave
because I already know it
and now I’m truly seeing it,
you will make it through this storm,
you’ll become right as rain.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Duncan Sanchez on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Amnesia – 18/08/20

    Poem: Amnesia – 18/08/20

    If you could forget specific parts of your life,
would you willingly wipe that part of your mind?
 
Would you trade unwanted thoughts, experiences and dreams 
for empty compartments,
nothing to sift through,
nothing to see?
 
But is this not at the detriment of your history,
your comparison of experiences,
the gratitude of understanding
that sometimes, some things,
negative thoughts, sensations, memories
so terrible 
may be required as a means 
of showing brightness next to suffering,
the comparison is by its nature incredible.
 
Though, to purposefully cause oneself amnesia,
would there be side effects of this?
What would happen when we forget pain and suffering?
is it all it’s made out to be?
Did you know that from darkness and despair can sprout positivity?
 
The feeling that we’ve made it through,
either together or alone,
knowing we’ve braved the storm,
perhaps that’s enough to leave purposeful amnesia well alone.
 
Regardless of retained memories,
we will make it through.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay

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  • Poem: words have power – 15/08/20

    Poem: words have power – 15/08/20

    words have power
i’m sure we’ll all agree
that words have strength,
wouldn’t you like to see?
 
i must reiterate that certain letters have bite
and some arrangements have sting
and when unacknowledged, watch the fire rage within.
 
i wonder whether it’s all worth it,
the ability, the drive to want to fight,
to stand up for what is right,
what is noble,
what is correct,
filled with might,
 
we are known for being powerful far longer than after our
inkwell’s stopped remaining wet,
no matter the censorship,
our words can never be truly wiped,
we will never sit with errant regret.
 
words can hold one captive and steady,
they can hold one as victim too truly sweet,
waiting for the sense of amorality to hit,
and I think,
is this it?
is this moment of truth, exposure to the cold visceral really worth it?
 
i could sit here contemplating the stab within my drawn arrow,
the poison behind my dart,
the strength behind my sideways swing,
the scrawled directions to a stairway still,
why is life directing us this way,
mismanaging its power,
righteous words, they manage to take,
these words might wish to heal.
 
though, they are not so powerful after all,
at least not in an offensive mode,
in fact, they can smooth over the sorrow,
I suppose, in a way that’s far more potent
than any attack method that could be
shown to those pulled into line,
life is dragging us in tow.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by David Pennington on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Childish Dreams – 14/08/20

    Poem: Childish Dreams – 14/08/20

    When I was much younger,
I dreamed up a fairy tale,
in which I was treated not as an 
obedient princess
but an adamant, decisive queen,
strong-willed yet still compassionate,
rescued from my bitter loneliness, 

and accompanied by,
walked alongside through life
next to a wonderful, endearing king 
in this world which often strikes against those who
pause to dreamily admire the sky,
while busy lives hustle and bustle,
rush on by.
 
Together we would dance and dance,
and seem like forever 
we were holding hands,
our twirling,
our waltzing,
my dipping,
for me, he would eternally care.
 
Then as I grew,
reality sunk in,
a realisation I didn’t need a man to save me,
I could fall and crawl and lift myself on my own,
princess I was not,
queen neither was I,
but my world,
my decisions I owned,
I had the courage to walk it alone.
 
No matter how I longed for
love, affection,
devotion,
when I was ready,
I trusted a king may still eventually show,
 
perhaps the first would be the last,
his appearance might be a type of curious offering,
life’s rewarding,
within my heart a new fairy tale 
began emerging -

although through love, 
I did not need saving,
I needed firm self-acceptance to continue  
developing and growing.

I could stand by myself, 
all alone, 
but sometimes it is nice 
to not be on my own
and as long as equality would be present, 
reign true, 

the yearning and hoping 
for another to complete the picture,
there is nothing wrong with that, 
perhaps my dream wasn't so childish,
nor so outlandish to quietly treasure and review. 

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Alise AliNari from Pexels

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