Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: dreams

  • Poem: Girlish Dreams – 26/02/20

    Poem: Girlish Dreams – 26/02/20

    fairy bread and toffee apples and Barbie dolls and cupcakes
pink princess outfits and friends' prematurely planned weddings
and skipping rope
and playing-house games
 
a little girl’s dreams
so simple and easy to please
those years in primary school
where we danced on the rocks like sprites with ease
 
but then my dreams grew stormy
I became complicated
the family's black sheep
depression set in and I never really knew
how different I was
I just felt so old,
unlike anything I’d ever even known
 
a tortured soul I felt myself as
a failure in friendships
yearning for relationships
good tidings rarely seemed to be brought my way
though talented it appeared the self-aggrandising nature
of my achievements and success bore me into the ground
nailing me
pinning me
driving me
down
down
down.
 
how I rose up was anyone’s guess
histrionic and glib?
I was never these.
but I smoothed over the rough edges of my undesired life
and made myself into something more,
for if I couldn’t be accepted as I was,
then by all means, I would exemplify my strife.

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

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  • Poem: Insomniac – 18/02/20

    Poem: Insomniac – 18/02/20

    The second hand ticks,
each click like the repeated trigger of a pistol,
fearful, I lie in wait,
as it speaks of how affected I will be if I remain
in this involuntary state.
 
I’ve barely slept in days,
awakening hours always the same,
middle of the morning,
the arms at those memorable angles,
I wish I could slip daintily into my dreams.
 
Instead, nightmarish awakenings
where I beg for liquid,
I am strangely thirsting,
as though the method of fighting to stay under
the surface of consciousness has drained me of all
moisture;
I am but a slice of aged parchment.
 
And upon me there are unintelligible words written,
scrawled, in fact,
speaking of that which I cannot understand,
let alone behold,
but the effort behind the scratching,
the etching seems atrociously laboured,
is this what I do in my short periods of sleep?
Where I detail myself or,
I detail the unknown controllers?
 
Because that is what it feels like,
I am a being not of my own accord,
when I lie there awaiting sleep,
I ache, anxious butterflies in my chest,
anxiety, anxiety,
there’s something there, unheard.
 
Like a pinprick in the distance, not many would register that sound,
but to understand its existence is of a severe knowing,
a recognition of something there unknown,
an insomniac’s thoughts pinned in the clouds.
 
And I lie here,
waiting, waiting quietly,
my eyes widened and my heart beating in such a state,
how long will it be before the pills take effect?
Before falsified sleep is forced upon me,
a method of a chemical dream, dream, dreaming?

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

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