Handcock
Hancock
She says John Hancock or get a handjob
She met many who payed to play and then kicked rocks
Text messages and back scratches
A missionary, In and out addresses
Picked out good mattresses
You get what the balance is
She juggles a few who she has by the jugular
You could scram or flip, she's good with the spatula
Gotta admire her
Her love is spread like wildfire
Pieces of her left leave a trail
That circles back to a time when she was frail
When she failed to fight and ships sailed
Touching how at 6 years old she read loves brail
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Author:
June Winter (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 21st, 2022 02:45
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments1
(reality, can be so cruel
so many lament
their assumed lack of beauty
and yet
so many, are cursed to a life
of ill-fated, inhumane abuse
from such a young age
helpless, defenceless, blameless
yet
we see them, decades later
irreversible, bruises
now sharpened to poisonous
thorns
and sucking our thumbs, we
lament
them
for doing, what they must
to simply survive, the nightmares
endlessly, replaying on repeat)
I laud the depth of your empathy, dear Poet
I aspire for your level of humanity
thank you!
A friend of mine says when poetry gives you a voice give your voice to others... I love how you dissected the poem in a way I wouldn't, it's almost like a poem on it's own. I normally write according to what I'm feeling, sometimes it's best to write from experience, yours... Anyones... Anything that draws connection between what's written and what's felt. Maybe that may help you too.
wise words that I'll try to heed, dear Poet
thank you!
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