Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose
Where I can feel at home…
There’s a gentle humming surrounding my being, as though I’m reverberating from the inside-out. Something warm and prominent spreads out to my border, my aura, and there’s no ill feeling, nor any sign of doubt. Every inch of flesh breathes shudders with gentle flow, reminding me I’m living and breathing and, with connectedness to a higher source, my energy resonates and grows. [...]
I have experienced this before and triumphed. I have ridden the tempestuous waves and reigned freely. I have arisen from the waking dead and become full of life, now an ability to see, to breathe. I have lived, and I have learned, and this is what I wish to be seen.
I don’t think it’s pertinent to share all. I don’t believe it is wise to give everything away; this is something I need to inherently grasp and know. Because throwing precious hurt and gnarled knots of hardened truth, for revelation’s sake, for honesty, for letting go, and giving it all away, it no longer always [...]
There are many stages of transformation in life. Sometimes, to find ourselves, we need to cleanse and strip ourselves to the bare minimum, and then, search even further. Here is an example of that search.
I am appalled, I have failed to secure or retain a personal connection, a fallen notion, an untidy, needy calling. Why does my desire to be considered, to be seen without trigger exist, a stifling need woven like poison ivy around a body and mind so disheartened?
My hands present as aged and weary, my flesh paper-thin and melting like an image of Salvador Dali’s, with bones like soft honeycomb, where bees cheerfully settle in. Their wings frantically beat they seek nectar from the rhythm, the rhythm, hands slowly try itching them away, off my skin, away from an arm which they travel upwards, ignoring my slow decay.
Audio: Disordered Order Whom do I spy in the looking glass when I envelope myself? I warmly wear the blanket of my past reflection, she’s sadly a proud yet broken identity forcefully dragged from my past’s dusty shelf. I understand the meaning of, the truth behind visual fact, my reflection possesses an ability to [...]
The silence greets me. The questions which I have uttered are left lingering, their syllables carelessly thrown to the wind. It’s not a struggle to have let them go, in fact, they’re a release, a moment of crisis, a catharsis, and I know, I know, that not every utterance should be an emancipation, [...]
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 [...]
How much can I provide of myself before the dripping blood ceases then clots? A silent protesting of my vein that I’ve given all I can willingly give – there comes a point where I must stop. The vein is worn, to extract any further would require that butterfly needle, that gentle implement [...]
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
You must be logged in to post a comment.