My confidence in self-expression, I don’t care for looks of derision, curious undertakings, the strangers I sometimes catch glancing, I wear my big heavy boots with pride, wear dark makeup all I like, I dress how I want without hindrance, it may seem to others a small decision.
But I am being bold, letting my choices break the mould, I don’t care for judgements or disapproval, my approval is the only type I need to view. Being confident in myself used to be much of a chore, for I dressed, presented in ways that called for attention, of other’s approval I did implore.
Nowadays, I please myself, yearning I am not to be noticed and accepted for someone that I really was not, no longer clothed in garb that screamed for their eyes, bare naked skin, exposed legs, soft thighs. I walk the streets and shops in elaborate heavy boots, shiny accessories, caring not for looks of affection, I express in my own style, it may glean attention, but it’s not doing so for the most incorrect of reasons.
the strength within is something which must be seen, peel away those layers, let us view within, the armour, so thickly wrought, over years of abuse and mockery, self-taught, self-taught.
darling, it’s time to make that move, inhabit a better place, wipe away your gloom, shine bright unto another day and then the next, your armour always protects, come what may.
I know, I know, sweetheart, that at times it hurts, recalling that past behaviour, sour-filled words, you didn’t speak kindly to yourself, you spoke down to your ego, denigrated your heart, and at times, you tore yourself apart,
but now, you can reach forth, aim for the stars, show that strength within that came with truth, experience, and the strongest of arms.
know this, darling, my sweetheart, the yearning for more, from life, from your world, the pain is done,
watch as your kingdom will come, truth be told the errors of self-talk will come undone, and your language will become fluent with self-love.
it’s time to breathe freely, no encumbered breaths, infant-milky scent, from innocence you have grown, and into more, a strong woman you have become,
in fact, shed that armour, for its strength has become a part of you, there’s no need for chainmail or steel layers when life’s become more peaceful, beautiful, more spiritual than a vase of flushed magnolias.
Too easily influenced by voices all around, inside my heart bursts into song, its words begging to be allowed,
what is wrong with expression, is mine such a terrible thing? Cool quietness, I’ll smile from the wings.
This is now all for me, need not put on a show, I’ve done so many years, so forthcoming, and these were solidified in rough stone,
wrought with embers and rich lava flow, my youth, my demeanour, explosive, angry retorts thrown.
But listen to this heartbeat, why, I needn’t, shouldn’t have to make amends, amenable, sure, perhaps, won’t you guide me, open palm, welcoming hand, and show me a world I’ve so yearned to see, vibrant, ecstatic, won’t I be allowed to be me?
Freely, oh, freely, let me sing my melodies with shyness then exuberance, a confident, strident ease.
I trust those little, impactful moments when my pride, it begins to swell. Borne not of arrogance but knowing the hard work I’ve put in has permitted future prose. Something I can be proud of, something I’ve placed my heart within, written with thoughtful pondering, becoming more as I work then rework certain wordings.
I soften myself; I’d grown hardened over the years, now I don’t need to be defensive, I’ve spoken, am speaking of my fears. And when they fall beneath eyes so kind, and ears warm with empathy and intent, I know, I know, I have found my home, words to be shared, not just purged or spent.
I’ll just get on with it. Moving forward, that’s the path for me. I can forget but I cannot forgive, hateful words slammed into my face, am I expected to smile and continue being me? To cast aside their hurtful nature with a flippant wave, because someone muttered a begrudging ‘sorry’?
I’ll walk on. I’ll walk forward, stride by stride, with those who want to be by my side, no requirements or expectations weighing heavily, breathing down my neck any longer. I am not here to provide what I am uncomfortable to share. It is my life, my skin, my being, my spirit, the soul that I’m in. And I won’t give, give, give, unless I desire to do so. It’s not their right to receive.
I reiterate my worth to myself, speaking in quiet tones, then in my mind, I roar, I so roar, that I am enough without needing to be reassured about my appearance, my presence, my usefulness, my assurance is that I will be okay. I know this, I have supports in my life, and being without someone who hurt me emotionally is right, so right. I don’t need someone who does that while walking alongside.
Lost connections, fallen by the wayside, the electricity which surged, now plundered of pride,
hypocrisy which seems to glimmer at the door, I wonder what was intended, and were the relationships meant to be more?
Tainted by disconnect, lacking in joinery and glue, once so potent, alienated – by choice? Is this the truth? Walking away, time to rebuild without dismay.
Sometimes stronger on your own, perched in a tower, the only being there to recognise your humble throne, you are strong, despite it all, you can achieve comfort, consideration, quietly, Queen, you know, your silent goals.
Strenuous may be the thought processes where you dance with indecisiveness, but know you are the maker of your own fate, don’t forget your heart, little lady, for it may become too late.
Sometimes, oftentimes, I’d wonder why. Why was I so awkward, so different, so quiet, so damned shy? I’d go through life wanting to avoid the stilted conversations, the dialogue that barely went beyond the obligatory “How are you?” “Good, thanks,”, and a cheery but weak-willed, “That’s good!”, knowing that it wouldn’t go much further than this point, this query and mildly obvious revelation.
Would I ever become comfortable enough in
myself to mix easily with other people: strangers, unknown beings? Or would I
be forever in discomfort, eyes begging for a means of escape, where I could go
without needing to be obvious about my need to be alone and contemplate?
But then new experiences came along, fresh
faces, different names, all a whirlwind of growing conversations and
opportunities, explosions of learned moments within my mind. And I became more
comfortable, at ease with myself and others, although I never learned to be
completely as secure and comfy as I did with myself as the other.
She rises from the depths from the phantom-riddled deep the angular monstrosity of the high North Sea.
She attempts to make a show of her pride with the way she presents herself a reflection of the way she views her interior — her internal kaleidoscopic picture.
As a beautiful creature with so much to offer she cannot understand why observers would shriek run and hide when they would see her: Would they prefer she introverted, and be the one to emotionally and physically hide?
What was so terrifying with her means of angularity of differing degrees of separation — the very thought of her apparent failings caused her severe crippling anxiety.
Was she truly less than perfection? Was her interior view an entire riddled mess? How could she bear to survive when before others she was viewed as unwanted, undeserving, severely unblessed?
What it all came down to was an understanding of self-acceptance that there was nothing there for this angular being to reconsider in a negative means
nothing to make her feel her presence was unwarranted unnecessary completely underwhelming.
Instead her heart beats with renewed vigour as we smile upon her, cheer her on, allow her to grow with her quiet confidence to reconsider
that the negative views were borne of nothing true in reality and here she is in her beautiful angularity showing us her truths, in all her perfection and polarity of thoughts, feelings and views.
For we are all different but essentially we are one together our hearts can beat Our chest swollen with pride at knowing that we, like this beauty, are the emotionally strong ones.
And for those who are not quite there yet you will make it with some work some trust some dispelling of inner hurt.
You will make it, my friends, simply view our angular beauty as she twists and turns her limbs in celebration of her personal development and love and acceptance which we truly must commend.
When Jacqui looked into the full length mirror that day,
What did she see that led her astray?
Was it the small bump on her nose?
The purpled birthmark above her left toes?
Or the misshapen right eyebrow that needed delicate plucking and multitasked managing?
Everything Jacqui could see before her, of herself,
Caused her to be displeased.
Nothing was perfect,
Nothing was right,
To her she needed a reimaging, an overhaul, a makeover,
To match her insides.
She knew that internally, she was a beautiful, loving, caring person,
This her mother would reflect each and every morning saying,
“Jacqui, keep being loving, keep being kind, everyone sees you for the beauty you have and are inside.”
Yet these words halted her,
It was as though she was visibly unworthy of her inner truths,
That her personality did not match the outer appearance,
And it was as though her mother was hinting at that too.
So when Jacqui looked in a reflective surface,
Desperate to find something visible to adore,
She could only find faults, problems, wrong, wrong, wrongs,
Nothing that could be appreciated and admirably looked upon and mentally stored.
But Jacqui was lovely!
Jacqui was fantastic!
She wore her head bald and proud,
A statement to the world,
That she was different from the crowd.
She knew how to pose for photos,
In a most inventive, imaginative, photogenic manner,
And with false bravado,
She could even break into runway modelesque behaviour.
It did not matter what flaws she believed she had,
For these were so minute they were small, of such paling insignificance,
That I could squash them with my forefinger and thumb into disappearance.
For the truth of the matter is Jacqui was a wondrous being, inside and out,
And she simply needed some convincing,
Some cajoling,
To know that she was wonderful, and the world was better with her,
Not without.
And one fine day, at the park she happened upon a lost dog,
“Are you lost, dear honey?” she asked, bent at the knees and gently patting his scruffy fur.
“RUFF!” the dog ruffed, and led her to her future love, a great star.
With wonder, Jacqui approached his presumable owner,
And reflected in his big brown eyes,
She saw herself, awe and star struck,
Trembling quietly inside.
Was this her love, her future man, was this who she was meant to be with for life’s tumultuous ride?
Struck with a similar feeling, the man smiled at her knowingly,
“Jacqui? I’ve heard of you, beautiful, intelligent, kind and lovely You,” and with a wild anticipation, she pictured herself with him forever: him, her, and Ruff the dog, living at the house across the street, number twenty two.
I shan’t suggest any further,
Whether Jacqui had met the man who would help her understand,
With his reassuring,
That she was perfect,
Internally and externally.
But if you have a certain hunch,
That this man at least asked her out to lunch,
You’d probably be right,
And the answer would be some positively worded muttering or uttering of such and such.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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