when you breathed life into me, i felt my tight ribbons unfurl, the edges of me curling under, towards my heart, decorating me whole. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay There are moments of brightness among the numbness. A shine that burns through the darkness. Whoever brings you freedom, cherish them. Hold their presence close.
YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry
I rush through the forest in my mind, searching for the correct path to tread. It seems all the red cedar trees are up against me, surrounding my path, they growl and grow, their presence is immense. I hurtle from one trunk to the next seeking out that which might be tied to it or hung from a thick branch but nothing I see fits the view I beg to see, I hurtle from tree to tree. I am frantic, I have little time left to search out what I require and what requires my hands. The feeling of helpless hopelessness washes over me as I begin to lose all sense of control, I just want to save them and leave. It is essential for me to rescue the past, to carefully hold it close, not allow others a glance, but it is difficult to save something from certain evils of the world, its judgmental eyesight, its mocking, lack of understanding of a once hopeful girl. Because that is who I am saving, my younger self, who made mistakes, so many, yet here I am, in a world where I can feel proud of what I am doing. The life which I lead is worth feeling pride for, I have walked many miles, and with a sudden sense of relief, my eyes fall upon that little girl. About twenty, is she, am I, rather, on the precipice, of where I will fall, but now I reach and untie this little naïve, gullible being and save her from her imminent future, the experiences she no longer has to live and solve. And rush do we through the cedar trees, time is ticking for our survival, for her to return to my world of safety but something is dragging her behind, the air of heavy history, and I realise she must live it in order for my current self to breathe. It is with heavy sadness that I let my tight grasp of her hand go and her outstretched arm falls limply, into the darkness she melds. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. All images signed “LMH” are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock and all rights reserved.
She was pliable;
A living, wooden girl.
Whose heart melded so easily with others,
Broken umpteen times she’d lost count.
They would troupe, one by one,
Contort her into something pleasing enough to view,
Into something malleable,
Useful, warranting their attentions,
She’d barely need to beckon toward their view.
How her heart beat like a chased wild rabbit,
Intent on escaping down that hole,
But the viewers, purveyors,
Liked to amuse and play with certain things themselves.
And this living, breathing doll,
This girl hung onto perfect hope,
That one day she would meet the hero in her tale,
With his love, a perfected human being she’d become.
When her joints would loosen,
Become like delicate glowing alabaster,
But the hero in the tale is her,
She will be the one permitting her own true awakening,
She will be the one to curse away the undesirable curs.
© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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