Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose
Where I can feel at home…
Night time should promise depth, and warmth, and promises, whispers of sweet tomorrows, and tight caresses, dreams, and deep rest, instead: three hour’s sleep, then wide awake in the same evening, sleeping for half hour shifts, then rising, eyes searching for the time, wishing it were later, silently begging. This sleep pattern is skewed, [...]
I am in my element in this state, perpetual song and dance, electrifying dopamine and serotonin I rise, I rise, I rise fast. My wit and charm seem perfectly at hand, I giggle, am sardonic, I laugh with ease, of this state I’m trying to comprehend. Is life playing tricks on me? Is [...]
Author's note: This poem details a point in my mental health journey where I was hospitalised for extreme mania, grand delusions and psychosis. These could not be controlled with time and much medication, hence I was subjected to the often-controversial practice of electro-convulsive therapy. The poet whom I speak of in my poem is extremely [...]
Some may view me as mechanically sound, for I smile quite naturally and talk with a lilting, confident tone. My words are humorous, relaxed, and 'well', they don’t know what’s hiding inside, the astringent sadness, she overwhelms. Internally, I feel stretched, as though a punishing thin layer has been made out of me, a [...]
I’ll admit it. Depression must be settling in. The sadness has quietly crept into my clothing and then into my bones, until I’ve become used to his company. I snipe at little things, take offense, wallow with despair, I want to reject this feeling, but I am too languid, I need some form of [...]
https://soundcloud.com/user-894707136/a-bipolars-addled-mind-spoken-word-poetry I shriek, my body flushed and covered with welts, my very first memory, my very first malady. Illness will follow me wherever I go. My violin's bow hairs tightly hug the strings, as left-hand dexterity is a-flurry, the fruits born of my first psychosis, the magic of a mind wholly scattered and broken, [...]
There are days when I feel incredibly down, I can’t turn the corners and curves of my mind back up and around, my stage presence is moot, I’d like to crawl back in the pages of my life’s former books, and relive the wonderful stages. But I cannot control myself, my miserable entity [...]
She’s had enough. Life, with its cruel measures, she’s defeated, broken, dare say surpassed feeling rough, her thoughts may not terrify, but they will reveal salted, open wounds. What is the point in detailing mediocre thoughts, some things which, in the moment, seemed thoughtful, and loving, caring, or clever, but of these qualities, her thoughts [...]
- A/N: The audience here are figures of authority, such as a psychiatrist, therapist, or treating team, and here I try to explain my disdain for being analysed with little care for my personality and its traits, only based upon the bare clinical facts. - The medications cause a quagmire of swimming thoughts and regret, [...]
By the skin of my teeth, the scraping of my nails, I’m fighting for escape, freedom from this personal hell. How did I get here? Perchance, do you think I even know? The aching and the longing, the pain, this vivid suffering, guttural shrieks, I’m alone, but not completely by myself. For [...]
