Quietness, the solitude, I can exist, for a while, at least, without him. Though he left hardened punctures within me, calibre-deep, wounded, gaping, shrapnel succumbing, I can still see right through me, transparency in my views, aiming for blatant and softened truths, now decidedly vulnerable, but paralysed though, extracting the spirit from herself, she is often her own news. She’ll exist by herself, without him, because his silent judgements, provocations and admonishments stripped her, tore her love-worn, barren world apart. There’s no fixing the damage, but she will celebrate those wounds for they prove she is human easily broken, and that she is not as impenetrable as once believed she is like him, but not. Unlike him, she still possesses feeling, and how this reflects, shining upon her, she’s real, undeserving of being his mere afterthought. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay
YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
You must be logged in to post a comment.