Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: despair

  • Poem: Shade – 07/08/21

    Poem: Shade – 07/08/21

    Light and shade,
    I sweep the curtains shut,
    keeping creeping moody blues
    in mind,
    seems they’ll never stop.

    Heaving and breathing,
    huffing and a-puffing,
    affected am I this night,
    heathens nesting in the room
    from dawn until morning light.

    Struggles to create
    in a manner bright and saved,
    annoyances in the gutter,
    when will my thoughts be tamed?
    For I am ailing, but to some,
    no matter, I’m the one
    who should troupe on regardless
    of what I’m lacking in
    my personal power.

    I loathe, I hate,
    this weakness in myself,
    the inability to say no,
    wanting to please,
    keep their flashy smiles
    in a row,
    whilst I, I sit here in pain,
    distended dreams,
    dreamt in vain,
    upon the moody windowpane,
    trickles of falsified tears,
    rain trails there to be admired,
    cleansed pathways reverse-inked
    in droves.

    Light and shade calls forth
    but all that seems present
    is shade and shadows thrown,
    there is no sunrise rising,
    no beauty in my morning,
    I mourn for things which I yearned for,
    calling,
    yowling presence causes progress
    to begin stalling.

    The bracken in this bonfire
    lit by a little match,
    how small a thought can then
    become an inferno,
    developing into disgust in myself
    as of late,

    what happened to living my
    best life,
    I’m exhausted to the point
    I cannot breathe…
    stifling this shallow breath,
    for recycled air,
    I begin to heave and heave.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Rafael Leão on Unsplash

    Previous Post: Distance – 06/08/21

    Previous Post: Open Arms – 05/08/21

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  • Poem: Unspoken Reasons – 26/07/20

    Poem: Unspoken Reasons – 26/07/20

    Don’t tell me why.
Don’t avoid the how.
Reveal the when.
Tell me now.
 
I must hear it.
I’m telling you,
you must breathe it,
speak your whole truth.
 
I beg of you:
Why did you leave?
Each time I saw you,
afterwards, silence lingering.
 
A hollow yawning,
gaping in my chest,
my repeated pain like
parading bull ants,
nipping, biting –
you were never my best.
 
Sticks and stones,
your omissions broke my bones,
I’m a fragile girl beneath it all,
 
my bravado and shine,
wipe them away,
so much emotional investment,
mere wasted time.

User and abuser, 
you never made me yours,
though for you, parts of me self-sacrificed,
my yearning the cause,
 
then,
without an utterance:
your tepid goodbye,
re-connection to be made months down the line.
  
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Lucas Pezeta from Pexels

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  • Poem: When She Comes Undone – Spoken Word and Text – 18/06/20

    Poem: When She Comes Undone – Spoken Word and Text – 18/06/20

    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 are apparently not.

Instead she’s left
with a soupy rendition
of a mirroring of
words that seem to
fail to impress,
 
for herself, she cannot bear to even
re-read them,
unworthy they are to share.

Just a joke,
self-doubt overwhelms,
such a malignant disease
it is,

she wallows,
bitter in the circumstances,
she solemnly nurses her hot cup of tea.

The sponge,
its creative cells within her,
that assisted her cushioned absorption
of her many internal tunes
is now blackened
with thick sludge,
her ideas stagnant,
left to rot while they remain disused.

Who is she
to pull herself out
from this torture,
this slow drowning in
grudge, sludge and grime,
of phrases and turns which
really aren’t that bold?

Will she return to her true self 
with time?

She once believed herself
to be an enigma,
misterioso, a chameleon,
alter herself at will,

now she is just herself,
hollowed and despairing,
thoughts no longer
flitting amongst the trees,

rather she’s dragging herself
by her hands,
crawling painfully on
chaffed knees.

She guesses this is what
living means today,
on this day,
at least for her,

salted wounds,
depression,
its lingering gloom,
has long ago set in.    

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Jerzy Górecki from Pixabay 
Audio: Myself.

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