Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: heartache

  • The rise : today – 12/01/22

    my heart, oh my heart,

    it fills my mouth spills onto my chest

    a plethora of liquid love well blessed

    because I expelled those demons

    those pains those sufferings

    those feeling of inadequacy

    of needing to be noticed

    and appreciated by

    the lot of them

    I don’t need to be understood any longer

    I don’t need to be wise enough to be taken with

    another’s flow

    I can co-exist and breathe for god knows how long, alone,

    and one day perhaps true love I’ll know

    but I don’t yearn for it call for it

    beg for it every second every hour

    back then

    time was cheap

    worth but a dime

    and sailing through those wretched hours I did not

    enjoy myself,

    oh how I pined,

    my rejected being often soured.

    but now, now dear one listen to my strong deep

    pulsating sentiment

    grasp my pounding heart in your palms

    feel the heavenly treasure within

    I can see you catch your breath

    at acknowledging now

    not visually me but how strong I can permanently internally

    be

    I am useful I am present

    I am here and now

    reality is spilling forth

    I feel the correct rightful temperament.

    love will come in many forms

    it always has, always will,

    and I, here I take that swill

    a fill of luscious liquid

    here’s the drill

    I am satiating myself not with food

    but with cool calming water of wise knowledge and

    wonderment

    life is perfection

    but with another?

    perhaps there’s the time I will know soon enough,

    vibrancy with theirs, is what may be experienced,

    a piece of heaven truly sent..

    (04/12/21)

    Copyright © 2022 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Poem: wreathed, perpetually – 14/12/21

    Poem: wreathed, perpetually – 14/12/21

    wreath me with the sadness that you could
    no longer carry
    battle heavy battle weary,
    I will shoulder the metaphoric that ate at your spirit
    entranced with the brightness of the airy and sycophantic
    I smile, for I will carry on this legacy in a different way
    I will revitalise the mourning into celebrations set
    for a glorious day
    I will understand that the need to be free and wild
    reside on the very same occasion,
    instant are potent notions, understandings
    but, as confusions that will weigh down your heart
    as innocent mirth fills my soul
    and I glance down
    at the soil where I buried those sunflower seeds
    with sunshine water and smiles
    I gave them my emotions I gave them my all and now the wreath I disrobe
    take away that layer that protected me
    brown-green pine needles, Christmassy armour
    and I remember with sadness how I felt
    recalling that other
    that moment when I carried heartache almost eternally
    and felt that suffering (suffering) as I stiffened with vile intent
    of precarious ascent
    my chest rises my chest heaves
    my mind begs for insistence
    to leave leave leave this scene
    I don’t need to view your final resting place
    I don’t need to understand why you fled my life
    my state
    and though you still exist, and elsewhere live
    it’s as though you are dead to me
    I carry your wreath
    I yield all your suffering
    I beg for you to remember
    always remember me
    that love you perpetually felt from
    innocent naive me.  
    Copyright © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    (13/12/21) 
    Photo by Teodora Popa Photographer on Unsplash

    Previous Post: reflection – 13/12/21

    Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

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    This post ‘Wreathed Perpetually’ first appeared on Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose.

  • Poem: Beautiful Tragedy – 18/09/20

    Poem: Beautiful Tragedy – 18/09/20

    Our love was a beautiful tragedy,
    we flourished from the taste
    of its existence,
    the way we reacted and acted was
    like that of a giggling pair of youths.

    But we lacked maturity,
    good times could not only be the
    ones had,
    falling into his eyes,
    his hurt,
    what did it truly mean?

    Listening to and sharing tales,
    the mutual opening up of
    old wounds,
    and while information was privileged,
    I sometimes felt ill-equipped
    to properly advise or comment.

    The tragedy behind our
    wall of defensiveness against the world,
    our fortress of affection
    which was mean to enclose,
    protect,
    preserve our magic,
    only to be seen, admired, and envied
    at certain times by others
    when we decided to be on display,

    the tragedy was that our perfect little bubble
    was our downfall,
    and a lacking of self-understanding
    on part of one or both –
    perhaps specifically one,
    perhaps it was me.

    The absence of self-awareness,
    a reasoning and knowledge
    of what was required,
    what was necessary for the
    growth of the heart
    could cause a cacophony,
    reverberations to be felt and heard
    for many an eve.

    Now truly seems the time to heal,
    I must attempt this;
    we must try our best to repair,
    cannot have one or the other disappear,
    a desire rise to vanish into thin air.

    © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Morgan Sessions on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Beautiful or Ugly – Spoken Word Audio and Text – 10/07/20

    Poem: Beautiful or Ugly – Spoken Word Audio and Text – 10/07/20

    Audio: Beautiful or Ugly
    Your anger.
It starts, hissing,
a face contorting uncontrollably,
a tic here,
you’re growing stronger and far more beautiful
as your emotions arise,
of your internal nature I become aware,
each decision you decide.

Most people view your state
as ugly,
as something appalling,
but your anger, darling,
it shows me your turmoil is 
well and alive;
you’re amazing with how much you feel,
I’m being honest.

Your stomach twists you
into knots,
the grinding of teeth makes you
remember, remember,
the taste of frustrated tears
squeezed from the corners of
eyelids that will never
Forget-Us-Not,

Your ability to avoid the truce,
the agreement,
to live and let go,
your stubborn nature is wondrous,
it is sheer beauty to me
because it displays your
dedication to how we once were,
to how our lives used to be.

Thus, allow these tears to stream,
lava-like,
vulnerable,
they burn troughs deep
in your puffy, irritated cheeks,

and remember that though I’ll
not always be here
I will always be there
if in your heart
you’ll cherish me.

Your anger,
such beauty,
to some, it’s pure ugly.

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

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  • Poem: Shattered Pieces – 14/12/19

    Poem: Shattered Pieces – 14/12/19

     The shattered pieces of my heart 
 lay unnoticed at his feet,
 where broken, jagged edges of myself 
 lay all around, 
 puncturing my reality. 
  
 I take in the rejections, 
 the bold airy silences which once 
 swam with bloated promise and hope,
 and I tell myself
 he does not matter
 that I must take care of my heart and myself.
  
  It’s as though I’ve taken a stab to my spleen,
  an organ which I don’t need to survive
  but by goodness I can feel the disgusting pain 
  and dripping of blood into my internal cavities.
  
 You’re a delicious distraction
 You’re a self-inflicted wound
 You’re everything I’ve wanted
 My inhalation, exhalation
 My tainted poison 
  
 You cause my shattering
 and I further perpetuate the breakage 
 into smaller parts
 let’s make our very own mosaic 
 where we can always be reflected in 
 our own unique mirror surface

 together yet never completely,
 close enough, at last.   
 A picture-perfect image,
 A decisive work of art.
 
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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