You say it’s not right, that you’ve left an untidy impression, you didn’t need to leave that lingering taste upon her lips, here is your apprehension. You say you've projected yourself far more than you desire yourself to be viewed but how to disentangle yourself from this resultant unhealthy view? Would you allow yourself the moment to succumb and settle rather than unnecessarily stew? Her expectations will never match mine, but her eyes, those glistening orbs, widened with innocence, underlined by a smile, she does not know what she truly wants, who or what she deserves, darling, you’re far too much for her, you’ve a manic type of verve; though she doesn’t possess any true inkling, she doesn’t understand this is who you are. Heed not your aching, pounding heart and worrisome, concerned thoughts, how you weren’t worthy of her, how you blew this opportunity, don’t allow this commentary to flow through you, your mental calamity, this negativity. You are golden, you are sunshine, and to me, you are sharp panic bottled with the fizz of determination which shall not pale in comparison to any falsified form of freedom of expression. You are sweet annihilation mixed with the richest spice I’ve ever known, project unto me: make my world your second home. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Photo by Jonathan Borba from Pexels
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Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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