I tell the man that he is tyrannical, he can take his rubbish home with him tonight. I tell the man he is delusional, he won’t get anything from me this, nor any other night. I tell the man he is dreaming, how far does he expect to get with this attitude in life? I tell the man I am magical, I don’t need his nightly strife. I fly away on brightened wings, feathers soar, no clippings, there has never been an owner to determine how I move, whether I can rise, what I can do. I am a winged woman in charge of my life, I am a soaring phoenix who will pay no attention to a rude man’s fabricated strife, because if that man had taken a knife to my edgings, I promise you, darlings, he would no longer be the one calling. I tell myself that I am not ready-made, I am uniquely here and now, my journey to arrive here, though convoluted, would shock and amaze, I understand that while I rise and soar I am impervious to the dangers that lurk in human form on the ground. Fallen beings, so they’re called, and devilish spirits, whose callous lives will unfold, before my very eyes I spot them, in a group, in their gloom, and this is what I screech as I descend, this is what I do. Behold my substance! I cry from afar, behold my potent nature, I’ve developed myself, I express with my shrieks and roars, and when my heated wings of my blazing form shift and shine and shine and move, I wriggle in a manner that wholly flatters my form, and their eyes, those sets of eyes are now enthralled, transfixed, their gazes are proof. What say you to a dance? I offer one of the women then one man, what say you to a challenge? First – the woman – nods readily, the other pales in comparison. She attempts to move her body but she does so clumsily, clunky, violently, it wholly seems a joke, I try to keep a straight face, and encourage, to extract some form of hope. Now my turn, I say, as I shimmy, shimmy, flurry my fiery form and wings either side, each way, I now engulf them all, send their damned souls back to hell, because if not, they’d remain and likely harm somebody else. I cannot have them on my conscience, but their extraction is something which I must never tell, their rightful banishment, little to no substance, this sordid tale which shall never be revealed. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay
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Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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