Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: obsession

  • Poem: Addiction – 08/07/20

    Poem: Addiction – 08/07/20

    Addiction,
it can reveal itself in 
many insidious forms:

drugs,
alcohol,
food,
another person,
even yourself.
 
It starts off small,
nothing sinister,
just a drag here, a sip there,
a few excited texts in a row,
or the journal in which
you scrawl 
endless thoughts of your own.
 
Addiction,
it’s potent,
perhaps you’ll succumb to it,
grasping blindly,
fingernails dragging,
internally snarling,
give me him/it/that/treat
need it want it
can’t be without it
 
The pen scrawls as though
it’s a mind of its own,
detailing your lover
or your self-obsession,
your catharsis,

you’re stuck, stuck, stuck,
on sharing -
won’t someone help 
break this cycle?
 
Addiction, it’s engulfed me
it’s taken o’er,
I am wallowing,

and now
and now
and now
I cannot stop
I won’t,
because I do not know how.

My addiction, all former 
afflictions cast aside, 
this was the one left to
to quietly fester and grow.

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

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  • Poem: Too Much Time – 02/07/20

    Poem: Too Much Time – 02/07/20

    I’ve too much time on my hands.
For some, this would be paradise,
but for me, it’s a continual, 
rising obsession of poetry
and revisions filling my mind.
 
I can spend hours and hours 
retouching a word,
retouching another phrase, 
here and there,

rephrasing this and rewording that,
the stresses of syllables 
hold great power,
I am aware.
 
Too much time is dangerous,
I work arduously and arduously
even if my words may be 
ill received,
 
I strive for perfection,
the utmost that I can,
though I need to recognise my work
isn’t the centre of everything,
it is not all-encompassing.
 
But, for me, it’s a driving obsession,
the need to write, correct, 
edit and rephrase, 
to ‘right the wrongs’,
as they say,

my words, they have 
too much time
to be altered,
at night, I lay stagnant yet wide awake.
 
My phrases cannot sit and marinate
in their juices of potent honesty,
because, I won’t allow this:
changes and niggling, 
internal suggestions
are currently what compel me.
 
So, what to do with 
this obsession?
This drive for perfection, 
or as close to it?

The need to present the best I can,
that’s healthy,
but this method I’m experiencing 
is causing an unpleasant reaction.
 
I could close the computer down,
walk away for days or hours,
but I’m far too attached;
I’m stuck,

to write continually 
is my life now,
it has become that 
part of me where upon
the gap in my heart 
has been sewn.

The stitching, the patching,
of that broken, 
missing piece,
is now where 
bushels of words and truth
are overgrown,

and my words, 
in your mind, 
I will speak –
I’ll find it difficult if I were 
to ever let go.
 
Too much time has its setbacks,
I’ll shut my notebook, 
close the computer down,
when will I learn to 
slow my mind down?     

When will I learn to 
leave my words alone?

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. 
Image by nile 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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  • Poem: Trysts Which Twisted My Heart – 09/12/19

    Poem: Trysts Which Twisted My Heart – 09/12/19

     Behind the bushes are where I can rest, 
     quietly, softly, my heart beats, still rushing, 
     you were my object of interest,
     my complete obsession.
      
     I remember those moments as if they were yesterday, 
    when I was there by your side 
     gazing sideways at your face longingly
     and you failed to acknowledge my interior picture,
      
     my brokenness blown in a breath,
     up and away,
     dispersed in the ache of 
     my blessed yet cursed day.
      
    Because when you arrived as your charming cheeky self,
    confident, 
    self-assured, 
     knowing you’d achieve what you hoped,
      
    I prayed that you’d treasure me for me,
     that I’d see you more often
     But, our trysts were simply that,
     nothing more meant to be. 
      
    The tendrils behind the bushes 
    grow and curl above my waist
    towards my face, they lengthen themselves
    as though they are meant to be there
     
    reminding me of the twisted nature of our arrangements
    which weren’t even there in concrete measures,
    only when you decided to return communication, 
     my burning words of yearning fixation. 

    © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
    also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
  • Story: Mrs Marmalade – 15th September 2019

    Story: Mrs Marmalade – 15th September 2019

    Mrs Marmalade was known as such because she liked to have marmalade as the main ingredient for her lunch. Not only that, but it was the same for her tea, and breakfast might I add, of course, Mrs Marmalade would agree. She held a great love, a fondness for this condiment, jars and jars filled her cupboards, to fetch more was not required, stockpiled they were, of her house she hardly ever left!

    My, was she ravenous, for this delightfully sweet and zesty treat, that in actual fact I will tell you the truth, the only ingredient was this sweet preserve for her meals. She didn’t mind only consuming the sweetness, never had she recalled missing savouries, because this woman only needed one item on her grocery list. Do you get the point, do you understand, that even though she was risking malnutrition she was adamant at only consuming this condiment similar to jam? She couldn’t help it, but she’d never admit it was an addiction, poor Mrs Marmalade didn’t understand that this was a dangerous predilection. Her teeth were nearly all rotten, she could barely chew the zest without experiencing overwhelming pain, yet she would not make an appointment with the dentist; last time she’d presented, he’d told her to throw all her jars of marmalade away!

    “Preposterous!” she had yelled. “Why would I do such a thing?” He sadly told her if she continued eating only marmalade her teeth would soon need to be removed rather than replaced with fillings, and given dentures that were uncomfortable and wieldy. But she had not listened, and a pain was present basically in every single tooth, she couldn’t afford the dental service for dentures, but she knew what to do. When it came to having tooth aches, she knew that the first line of advice was to eat soft foods, and my goodness, didn’t she have that in excess: her marmalade was the best item to consume! How she laughed to herself as she continued to eat her favourite delicious item, her delectable treat. What would she do in the future though, who would hold her hand as her teeth either fell out or were yanked out by the dentist man? She didn’t care about the future, for now she was too happy to give a damn.

    And so, she continued living only on the condiment, her teeth continued rotting away, she didn’t notice though, for she took pain killers to ease the growing pain. She continued to order her treats online, on the supermarket website. She didn’t need to leave the house at all, no judgement would anyone pass for the massive amounts of jars she had to have delivered by freight.

    The potential ending of Mrs Marmalade’s tale is not all that sweet, in fact, it is fraught with disaster, because over time, quickly, her tooth ache peaked. The cavities and gums throbbed with great insistence, and soon there came a time where she couldn’t even chew the softened zest of her favourite treat. Saddened, she knew she must return to the dentist, where he was shocked, horrified, to see the damage she’d allowed to develop when she avoided seeing him regularly.

    “You knew I asked you to return late last year, why didn’t you, Mrs Marmalade? Now I have to remove nearly all of your teeth, because you refused to e more aware.” He could talk to her in this tone because they were old family friends, but she didn’t’ appreciate being addressed in this manner, so she built up a wall of defence.

    “If you don’t speak to me nicely, I’ll just leave and eat more marmalade!” she threatened.

    “Please yourself,” he said with a shrug, “but I’d better remove your rotten teeth to save the few others while you’ve still got them.” Excruciating though the pain was, once they were removed, she felt so much lighter and less in pain. She thanked the dentist and went home again to do what? Exactly what she always did, and wasn’t this a crying shame. Some people never learn their lessons and Mrs Marmalade was a perfect example. Her addiction to this sickeningly sweet treat was her failing, and she felt no need for behavioural correction. 

    Nowadays, Mrs Marmalade is the proud owner of a set of perfect dentures. The dentist felt sorrow for her and fund-raised until he’d had enough to aid her. Mrs Marmalade enjoys them because they’re perfect for appearance, but easy to remove when it comes time to eat. There is no worrying about whether her teeth with suffer, because, with the dentures out of her mouth, she can eat all day, throughout all meals, without any chance of decay, no need to suffer! She can consume her delights from morning to supper.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Story example: A Marriage of Questionable Convenience (Grey lead sketch) – 15/07/19

    Story example: A Marriage of Questionable Convenience (Grey lead sketch) – 15/07/19

    By Alice Well (LMH) (c)

    It was a marriage of questionable convenience, the woman promised to her blender, preloaded with the goodness of a whole carrot, at the cessation of their nuptials, he knew where to send her. 

    The greengrocer held his palm across his sweaty face, when he saw this woman grabbing every piece of fruit and veggie in his store, everything was snatched away from their ordered place. Frantically she grabbed, left, right and centre, even one, almost unseen squashed black stinking banana.

    “He can blend real good, he can blend reaaaaalll nice,” was her working motto and mantra. Why did she marry a blender? This is a peculiar story I have to tell you. 

    This women had an overt obsession with health, and an unhealthy obsession with maintaining her weight herself. Often she’d go on juice fasts, the longest had been twenty days, with no solids, only liquified fruit and vege, she would cleanse her unhealthy days away. 

    She was also obsessed with gym, and it was here she met her true love, the Blender formally known simply as Gin, a singular word. He had once had a lover named Tonic, and each lazy Sunday they would blend themselves, intertwine and smile, downing alcoholic beverage upon beverage,  their love was known to last for many a while. 

    But Blender longed for someone far healthier, someone who would take care of themselves not only his heart and beats to drowsily, dreamily blur. He desired someone proactive in their health and themselves and suddenly he stumbled upon her, at the squat racks, wiping away sweat from herself.

    She shyly glanced upward, their eyes met in a burning moment, “Hi, I’m Blender, nice to meet ya,” and he offered his hand to be shaken while he continued to speak. His gym knowledge and fruitarian lifestyle understanding was impressive to this woman, soon to be his bride to be, they were fierce together, electric, their words a melded symphony from heaven.

    Over time, during their marriage, Blender began to wonder at the state of mind his wife lived in, he really began to ponder. Did she need help with her suspected issues, someone professional to talk to at least? But no, at this suggestion she would not bend, all she’d do was blend, blend, blend. 

    But as she became more comfortable in her relationship and circumstances, she began to put on a little more weight and use the gym facility less, and now she found out she was with child, what a glorious day, a future human-appliance child, weren’t they so blessed! How she wept when Cucie arrived, named after her favourite veg to blend, her life was now on track: love, health, family, personal wealth. There was no need to be tormented by inner demons anymore.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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