As I sit down to write, my muscles ease, feet arrange neatly into place, my fingers at the ready. This is my time, where I will shine with tendrils of arrangements that are written not only for me, but for others, too, I don’t simply write for myself, I have a sense of duty to them, for from within me, like a geyser I expel my truths. Confessionals, confessionals, my autobiographical poems, they’re the one and the same to me, I do not aim at whetting the appetite however, I do wish to flood certain seas. To share and to reveal is something deemed worthwhile, perhaps I’ll reach many or a few, maybe my words will resonate with them, their circumstances conjoining with mine, also, and as I sit down to write, I am focused, I have great intention, and I know that what I produce will be the best I can arrange for myself this very night, I need to be left alone, quietly, without any intervention. Because interruptions, these cause me great distress, I’m sitting here recording, on and on, because at subtle turns I make verbal slips, new recording! I’m doing my best, if an unsuspecting arrival were to rudely arrive at the door, I’d be mortified, I already fear being heard and viewed as conceited, for the words I record and record, that speak only of me. But this exploration of myself, as I sit down to write, no longer to edit and read, to analyse the past, the present, upon a platter, display the future, and anything in between, the haphazard nature of rabbit traps and paw prints leading into them, I guess the rabbit was not so wily, she needed to be a little more observant. This rabbit danced around those traps, now look, she’s here, whole in whole, to be seen. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay
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Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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