resonating frequencies the juvenility isn’t childish it’s precious our inner children come out to play shy eyes mischievous gazes instead of claps we play with words his play is exciting, skilled, self-assured.
we giggle together as we converse with ease flinging passions upon the table how we meld so easily minds connect soul spirit intellect how amazing to find another who treasures the magic within the other almost immediately
smiling delightedly we knew there was a connection our shared interests our creative fusions take a sip of my designer caffeine hit, yes, predilections, we’re just adults housing our curious inner children.
fatigue washes over me like a deadly dirty sin engulfing me embodying me takes its fill of me in my vision how it blurs swaying leaning I reach forth unintentionally, of course im falling im falling in a manner completely unacceptable breaking me there’s no such thing as monotony
I fall asleep in place sitting up apparent hours minutes seconds seem to race i’m broken yet oddly assured that I’ll at least succeed at gaining some rest the writing that ordinarily takes ten minutes to pen fifteen minutes left until the almost-full hour disjointed thoughts and messages jotted now to entertain.
I will not cry I will not moan victim mentality is not in my being known I do not know why I am suffering this way though, three to four hours a night each rest is broken like shattered pavement beneath my bare toes
concentration is a joke my eyes my mind travels traverse their own wanderlust and walking ahead upon a path noticing men and women canoodling at half-mast I cannot ascertain fully what is occurring inside my brain though I suspect, ascertain, hypomanic is the state.
shall we lead into mania, I wonder to myself, this polar extreme highlighted by my fervent actions frantically creating unto myself but there comes a point where I must Slow. It. Down. I do not know I do not know how to escape this vicious cycle or, am I meant to simply deal with it on my own?
the moral support which could be provided is severely unacceptable for some assessments are rubbish wanting me to be under a yowling’s affair instead: tik tok tik tok laissez-faire rare visitations to my foreign bed.
I don’t want somebody like you I never wanted to be ruined and unfulfilled what I hope for what I wish for what I dream is the potential for repair to love, succeed, to be
are you part of that picture? were you planning to be part of that fluidity? that blossoming flower and the stamen reaching forth for that other, pollinator, conjoiners?
the truth is I never wanted anyone like you. I don’t know what I wanted. but what I needed, what I need, now that’s a different assertion. a competition?
Perhaps, win my heart if competition you don’t dread, weave the dreamcatchers, dreamscapes fly in wisps and while away time, time, time, and we’ll sleep until noon, or, at least, we’ll pretend to…
wet dreaming lashes and wanton desirous passions, last night I wondered where you were, on your way to teach so many life lessons to my heart when it’s on heat with fire and ice and dancing with disastrous notions which only have accents upon the truest of consultations –
I realised you can’t steal something away that I inherently own even if the physicality disappears from hand hold it’s mine and mine alone my worth self-worth once thrown to the turf now shining unto itself surrounded by a halo
I am stronger I am prouder I am older I am wiser it didn’t come about without troubles wrought the pains becoming gnarled and harder I do not know how I allowed myself to stray to forget, or even know, what I was allowing myself to be to do to be viewed as day by day; end of each day perhaps I inherently failed.
sometimes growth still yields many forms of separation… mistrust, paranoia, apprehension, brothers and sisters envisage the vision before you, neither be forceful nor misgiven,
for tis the season, tis the season, for giving and living, smile, dear friends, for we are together, in part, until the ending.
so now, bright lights, deep sparkles, heavenly ascensions, extending the loving, commence the resounding celebrations, fervent rejoicing. (08/12/21) Original artwork by myself
dance kisses upon my throat so this is what it means to hope stroke delicate skin upon my clavicle protrusion teases the heart which stems from endless fervour growing, grown exposed wrists like gentle sheets covering calmed corpse awaiting his final resting place lay with me as you lie to me and tell me I’m the most beautiful soul in the world you’ll ever be damned to see
chagrin rolls in my chest sooty moss spreads, engulfing my freedom of breath these blatant lies you feed me extricate me envelope me warm me fool me lulled into a false sense of dubious security because, feed me with these tainted compliments, continue with your altered sentiments and soon I’ll come to believe, believe, that the moon wasn’t meant to be with the stars and instead destined for my eyes while I’m lying in your arms.
but, perturbed am I I cannot allow these feelings to emote evoke my being immolate your false reverence devotion dear sentiment I know your true intent you want to feast upon me with your eyes and I’m not like that I am not here to be devoured only my mind, my memory should be entered into, my mouth shall speak of what I want and it’s the connection alliance amazing shared life joys, even the trials and tribulations.
the night-time is for writing with her deep thick languid ease fingers padding gentle surfaces tap-stroking certain keys
the favoured vowels the yearning syllables my mind speaks with slick sensing sifting through the marionettes floating at the mind-stage surfaces the dolls how they dance they speak in time, rhythm and rhyme dangling before me
tap-tap-dancing my mind takes them in behind them a quiet notion becoming bolder a night-time commotion singing to the surface is black ink spilled… dramatics.
bold is the process and wild is the prowess of yielding certain belligerence into moulded written continuance the shade on the axis beckons, to me it is out of duress speaking this is not nonsense, I conjure all the sense in the world when I delve into my own subconscious.
my feet are firmly planted and I’m no longer here yearning, asking why, why not have I? while others seem so preciously pleased and at ease and, amazing now, I am one of these.
these people, one of many I am I search my pockets for a clue a hand-jotted note a materialistic reminder that I am here and I don’t need to wonder wandering around lost and confused wailing, trailing the heels of others for a reverent decision
a ringing precious sound no, the energy force, wonderment source is here and now, it’s here in my present, and, I know, I know that this peaceful surety is something to treasure because it’s come at a great cost — the loss of my past armour, for I do not need it, nowadays, I am far, far stronger.
Bring on Life, Love, bedazzled with our amazingly heartfelt stars. (06/12/21)
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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