You exist because you can, you perpetuate your meaning because you will, you know that to be is to cause problems to those who wish upon you only ill. Time is ticking for you, my dear, there are many positive things which could be extracted, but instead you realise only the darkness and poison, you draw them out from you, inept, you feel. Some patterns are full of thrill, and some patterns are hard to kill. For the role you are undertaking, it is one of change, it is one of danger, you intended to take a different path, and now you’re mocked for this, scorned for this, in a dream, you are made to be the one they laugh at, because you are in your thirties and changing your direction at last. The mocking laughter pins into your flesh, biting in the meat, causing prickles, pain and suffering, no less, and the direct gaze of their judgemental eyes is wearing you down, you simply wanted to move forward, to leave behind what had long ago been sown. And now you stay back to confront the culprit, this is something you’d never have done, to fight authority's bullets with verbal bullets of your own, why, for this you deserve your own small throne. And the irony is that when you do speak, he rushes off, pretending to do something and never returns, now here you have learned, the power of words, my sweet darling, the power within your words. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash
Join me also at:
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
You must be logged in to post a comment.