I realised you can’t steal something away that I inherently own even if the physicality disappears from hand hold it’s mine and mine alone my worth self-worth once thrown to the turf now shining unto itself surrounded by a halo
I am stronger I am prouder I am older I am wiser it didn’t come about without troubles wrought the pains becoming gnarled and harder I do not know how I allowed myself to stray to forget, or even know, what I was allowing myself to be to do to be viewed as day by day; end of each day perhaps I inherently failed.
She joyously twirls bright ribbons yet feels dead inside, With a knowledge that what was once there, Fresh-faced, bright, youthful, still alive, Is now broken, irreparable, Scattered in pieces upon the stage, An urban pavement, Nothing to show for the destruction, No sense of inner pride or holding her head up high.
Her dolly-brightness is a façade The light and shade a humorous method At relaying that inside she is still ignited Still burning with life; One only has to look at her lack of brightened eyes To take in this scene with a sense of absent mirth.
Oh, how she could have reached the heights Become more than she had ever been How she could have flown into the hemisphere Succeeding and achieving at building a life Of her own.
But here she is Dead as a doornail because of the path that she chose, To vacuously entertain and be admired rather than use her mind, To exercise the chemistry of her intelligent brain
For a while she was simply an amusement A joke Something mocked behind open hands Just something to be viewed in passing upon the set stage.
But with time, hopefully she’ll rectify her life Breathe in once more And live a great freedom, a life Without recollection of that strife.
Because dollies are meant to play Entertain their owners Give them joy for hours upon days And seemingly there is nothing wrong With amusing another When it is performed with great respect of oneself And with an allowance of renewed life and vigour.
Thus, with her self-justification and self-talk She feels less dead inside now, Her stitched-shut eyes now become visible once more, Brightened with the knowledge that her presence is again wanted She is popular, Not cast aside onto the floor.
A renewed sense of popularity, A chance to regain a zest for life, To provide them with who she was meant to be - Now, She throws down her ribbons Which kept her bound and down.
Altered, affected and no longer ill at ease She strives for something more, Something less vapid, A role in life where she could be Acknowledged as being more than what she’d been designed for, Her eyes are finally open enough to see.
She rises from the depths from the phantom-riddled deep the angular monstrosity of the high North Sea.
She attempts to make a show of her pride with the way she presents herself a reflection of the way she views her interior — her internal kaleidoscopic picture.
As a beautiful creature with so much to offer she cannot understand why observers would shriek run and hide when they would see her: Would they prefer she introverted, and be the one to emotionally and physically hide?
What was so terrifying with her means of angularity of differing degrees of separation — the very thought of her apparent failings caused her severe crippling anxiety.
Was she truly less than perfection? Was her interior view an entire riddled mess? How could she bear to survive when before others she was viewed as unwanted, undeserving, severely unblessed?
What it all came down to was an understanding of self-acceptance that there was nothing there for this angular being to reconsider in a negative means
nothing to make her feel her presence was unwarranted unnecessary completely underwhelming.
Instead her heart beats with renewed vigour as we smile upon her, cheer her on, allow her to grow with her quiet confidence to reconsider
that the negative views were borne of nothing true in reality and here she is in her beautiful angularity showing us her truths, in all her perfection and polarity of thoughts, feelings and views.
For we are all different but essentially we are one together our hearts can beat Our chest swollen with pride at knowing that we, like this beauty, are the emotionally strong ones.
And for those who are not quite there yet you will make it with some work some trust some dispelling of inner hurt.
You will make it, my friends, simply view our angular beauty as she twists and turns her limbs in celebration of her personal development and love and acceptance which we truly must commend.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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