Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: mental health

  • Prose Poetry: Elusive Sleep – 03/08/21

    Prose Poetry: Elusive Sleep – 03/08/21

    Sleep. How it escapes, evades my very fingertips. When I reach out, fingernails scrabbling, hoping for a hint of rest, my aching heavy lids are calling. I am in a state of unrest, my mind is anything but heightened, I need the numbness to wash over me, repair the intensity from the day prior. I need to rest, but, I cannot, I cannot will myself into a state of slumber. Sometimes I am stubborn and don’t wish for the darkened cover, for haven in darkness, dangling from consciousness’ precipice until the web is severed, and I’m beneath, in the lake of swimming nightmares with the rest of them.

    I do not need sleep, or does sleep need me? Preposterous, this claim, it does seem. The very fabric of my mind is wearing ragged and thin, existing in a state of stunned surprise when I force my eyes wide and brighten them to take my surroundings in. Taking in their fill. But unappreciative, as a slight, because I was told sight was not urgent, improvements were required but not yet, and so, I exist on a diet of blurred visions and occasionally barked words.  

    But Sleep, my antisocial friend, who only wants to attend for four hours or five, then sweep himself away, without a word to say, leaving me groggy, thirsty, and ill at ease in the dead of night, wishing for even an extra hour that he had stayed. Quality sleep never comes, in fact, so rarely does he attend that some cruel puppet master might as will be silently phasing out the timbre. Yellow, yellow, what a beautiful colour. Yellow conjures up such a cheery disposition, a shining timbre.

    Oh, how I need sleep, before I launch into emotions, feelings, about colour association, so replete!

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Megan te Boekhorst on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Seasonal Affective – 17/07/21

    Poem: Seasonal Affective – 17/07/21

    Today’s been a struggle
    I must openly admit,
    not feeling seasonal affective,
    but rather seasonally dejected,
    my mind, it swims with sadness,
    amiss is my prowess, my brightness gone,
    my ability to deal with
    rejection or silence
    when reaching forth to others
    with smiles or hopeful song.

    I know the root cause,
    the depletion of my nightly dose,
    and also the lacking of ample sleep
    which my body and mind are
    craving the most,
    my ability to combat little things,
    my lacking in ability to cope,
    why can’t I be like others,
    or simply possess the usual
    resilience of myself?

    I know I must sleep,
    I know I must practice self-care,
    but how can I lay my head
    down to rest
    when I am unable to
    stop my mind ticking,
    from working in a manner where
    every ounce of energy is sapped?

    My energy stores refuse to replenish themselves,
    I should knock myself on the head,
    and tell myself
    enough is enough,
    you need the former amount,
    don’t be stubborn,
    reinstate your medication dose!

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels

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  • Poem: Stagnated Time – 01/05/21

    The minutes seem so long,
    the second-hand drags like
    fingernails in sand and broken glass,
    I’m impatient to know the answer,
    but I’m terrified to even ask.

    Tell me, what point is there
    in waiting,
    in watching the vapour of my breath
    cloud my vision, obscure with fog?
    The truth we will discover yet.
    I refuse to beg or sob.

    Ache not for the present, but recall tremors from the past,
    patiently, patiently, 
    in due course, 
    is it right to ask?

    I shall not flounder in my need, 
    in my desire to know, 
    better still lay the questions down to rest,
    I have no right to request, 
    nor you any obligation to let me know. 

    Would functionality take over
    if the seconds were given a chance
    to catch up with each other, 
    suddenly, a minute seems too fast. 
    The seconds trip and fall on one another, 
    clumsily, then altogether.

    (c) 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo by Logan Armstrong on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Losing Control – 18/04/21

    Poem: Losing Control – 18/04/21

    Losing control,
    walking on a tightrope,
    hurled on a high swing,
    abandoning all that I do not want,
    can signal the end of everything.

    Sweetness in all its magic,
    is temptation as it comes,
    the palatable,
    the rush,
    the seeming goodness,
    the body screams for it,
    by eleven, the damage is done.

    Little pieces initially,
    then vacuuming that room,
    inhaling without true consciousness,
    not even savouring the feeling,
    this feeling I wish to be rid of soon.

    For if it’s acknowledged,
    won’t that mean it’s fine for pleasure to return?
    I’ve spent months on end denying the joy
    of consumption,
    and now, here, look at me now…

    Unravelling the habit?
    Denying myself,
    creating a disservice?
    I’m not sure if I should surrender,
    but what I know is

    I should be grateful,
    I should be thankful,
    trust me, in ways I am,
    but the mindset I want, need, have to retain,
    it cannot be thrust aside,
    if so, well, I’ll be damned.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Image from Unsplash.

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  • Poem: PRN – 26/01/21

    Poem: PRN – 26/01/21

    Look what they’ve done, 
    prescribed those tiny bullets,
    dissolving, smoking gun. 

    The lacklustre effect is taking, 
    lethargy, it is growing, 
    malaise, it is not helping, 
    boy, these tablets are not assisting. 

    But perhaps they’ll calm the mind
    in due time, 
    relax, replenish, 
    make the thoughts intertwine,
    as though ivy would, 
    or thin rope, 
    wound around and around, 
    gentle, 
    methodically, 
    the medication has brought hope. 

    Feeling less anxious now, 
    the PRN has made the world have less overwhelming, 
    in tow, 
    my ship is causing no drift, 
    I’m on crystalline waters, 
    with this agent, 
    there’s no need to think,
    the ability to relax is here and now,
    a wistful song, from inside my heart grows.
     
    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
    Photo by Diana Polekhina on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Brightness – 17/01/21

    Poem: Brightness – 17/01/21

    Brightness engulfs that wicked room
    where tales were never shared.
    Where fears, anxiety,
    irreverently unfold within the gloom,
    resting concerns upon one’s hands.

    There is a quietness which is perturbed
    by the stately arrival of glaring white
    and unnatural upheaval,
    a certain something,
    a funk, a stink,
    which would bring one to their knees,
    into the darkest of thickets,
    the tangled thorns, the trees, the thistles.

    Do not cry for the moment of lost opportune,
    do not grieve, neither mourn,
    there is no end, only if wished for soon,
    there is nothing worth feeling lost about,
    because the presence, she lingers,
    lingers in a manner that takes words straight
    from awe-struck mouths and fingers.

    © 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
    Photo from Unsplash.

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  • Poem: The Girl in the Red Dress – 07/01/21

    Poem: The Girl in the Red Dress – 07/01/21

    Glaring, inquiring eyes
    inspecting through shopfront windows,
    what is it you seek?
    The girl in the crimson dress with white seams,
    is it she you are trying to find,
    do you desire her to speak?

    On edge,
    percolated by excess caffeine,
    anxiety rising,
    scenes perhaps more than what they seem,
    to her, everything seems suspicious,
    laden with layers of notions and commotions
    and terribly haunting dreams.

    Pressure is rising,
    shall there be a toast of prior predilections?
    Fight back the sleepiness of the morning,
    troupe around the neighbourhood,
    exercise and voices cheerily ringing?

    Stress, cortisol, tremors,
    won’t they be resolved?
    That feeling of edginess that screams
    so insipidity loud?

    Those pinpointed eyes as they pass within an
    expression of menace,
    the power of intimidation,
    she will acknowledge the look no more,
    to her, the forced inattention will make it less,
    she will not lock eyes with that stranger,
    there is not need for that physical test.


    (c) 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All right reserved.

    Photo from Unsplash

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  • Poem: Heat – 28/12/20

    Once in a while, you wonder just why.

    What ill had you performed to make the situation awry?

    What decision was undertaken to make someone feel slapped, or want to cry?

    Or want to cause a situation’s demise?

    Shall the rivers cease their running,

    Shall the seas calm their tides?

    And shall the oceans part wide

    Washed away of sin and less dry eyes?

    Shall we dance individually now,

    Never again to meet,

    No matter the circumstance,

    I don’t want to step back from the heat.

    (c) 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

  • Poem: Quelled – 22/08/20

    Poem: Quelled – 22/08/20

    Night time should promise depth,
and warmth, and promises,
whispers of sweet tomorrows, and
tight caresses,
dreams, and deep rest,
instead: 
three hour’s sleep,
then wide awake in the same evening,
sleeping for half hour shifts,
then rising, eyes searching for the time,
wishing it were later, silently begging.
 
This sleep pattern is skewed,
it is all over the place,
I am suffering each night,
nocturnal, without wishing to rise so early or late,
what I would give for a solid night’s sleep,
my eyes are bloodshot,
dreary,
if I could stomach something
I’d surely feel less queasy,
and truth be told,
I just need proper sleep,
I could pop an extra pill and it would all be so easy,
but I am reducing this aid,
and this is a sure sign
that my mind needs adjusting,
to create chemicals to 
replace what the medicine
provided to quell my overactive mind.

But when I rise at six in the morning, 
after an hour of amazing uninterrupted rest,
I feel bright and satisfied that my body was 
exhausted enough to bless me with that extra slumber - 
I feel close to what could be this morning's very best,
and I know that later in the day I'll rest some more,
it's not so bad, after all,
just I'm living in a strange topsy-turvy style.

At least I'm getting some rest, 
it all adds up, 
better than never ever sleeping at all or never enough.

It'll only be temporary,
this topsy-turvy, Nocturnal Me,
I've been on this med for years,
how could I expect it to be undone so easily?
   
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Ann Danilina on Unsplash

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  • Poem: Bright Spark – 08/08/20

    Poem: Bright Spark – 08/08/20

    I am in my element in this state,
perpetual song and dance, 
electrifying dopamine and serotonin
I rise, I rise, I rise fast.
 
My wit and charm seem perfectly at hand,
I giggle, am sardonic, I laugh with ease,
of this state I’m trying to comprehend.
Is life playing tricks on me?
 
Is it the reduction of the mind-numbing medication that is what's causing me this
amazing bliss? 
This erratic showwomanship that’s causing me to smile 
and dance all over the place,
with my body’s withdrawal tick, tick, ticks?
 
My creativity soars,
is mania pre-empted?
Wouldn’t you like to take control of my oars?
Be responsible for temporary guidance?
 
I will toss them aside,
I don’t, who needs control
not when I can explode with wild laughter,
my energy bubbling and frothing,
enthusiasm flows,
but don’t you know this,
this state I am in, my eclectic humour and lilting wit can only 
grow, grow, grow, and grow?
 
I am impatient, I can definitely be self-satisfied, 
I can be easily amused, this brews and simmers inside,
I am impressed by my words
and my ability to throw forth clever jokes,
when I'm like this, 
I entertain others,
no chance of boredom, for that, 
there is no hope. 
 
My sounding board, he listens,
with amused chuckles he accepts my
chortling trills,
it’s nice to have another soul with whom I can talk
rubbish to for hours,
without their ear being bashed,
assailed by my sounds,
together we can share some verbal thrills.
 
Rather than thinking I am too outrageous,
that my character is simply too much,
I think I’m just returning to who I was
(lies)
before the medications were slapped upon me
(lies: you might need to replenish, 
stop the spare pills’ accumulation,
rather, send them to your insides)
a mind's clever tricks, recommendations of mine.

I should know better
but I am being optimistic,
bipolarity flies from within me,
I love this freedom,
the ability to daily and nightly dream,
I am living for the moment,
I am so happy to finally be here,
the abnormality here is none!
In this state I am positively flowing.

I cannot quite believe it,
it seems there's a wave of rolling applause and excitement,
I must attend to the imagined need there is,
heaving and ready, 
thank you for being here yourselves,
and here for me,
I tentatively smile, then beam, 
yes, why, of course,
all is as it seems.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Vitória Santos from Pexels

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