Exorcism of the Heart: “A Plague of Thought, During a Pandemic of Fear”

By Lauren Nicole Wilkinson

This book is a poetic Anthology of a slow death of a relationship. A story about a woman who’s love helped her survive being abandoned with her three children during the 2020 pandemic. It’s a story of a woman who never gave up; She would become her
own hero and write her way out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jan 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781665736787

Lauren Nicole Wilkinson

Lauren Wilkinson defines herself as a mother first artist second. Her only accolades are her immense creativity, her tenacity to hold onto her dreams and her determination to not give up on them. Her book’s intention is to support the dreams of others like her; to remind those that your worst days can be transformed into your best moments.

Book preview

The Entomology of Me

(January 28, 2017)

I am a million things inside firing,

Hidden but very much decided.

I am a book,

A slow read that moves too quickly.

I am transparent thoughts on pages.

I am a withered emotion.

To read my story would be like

Reading the marred wings of a butterfly.

The pathology and anthology of my experiences

Of traumas, adventures, and misadventures.

My fragile wings, encrypted

In scars and secrets no one knows but me.

Each scratch, each worn spot is a story.

The entomology of me is easy:

I’m a gentle being,

A being who has escaped gusts, droughts, snares, and predators.

I find myself at destinations unknown,

Barely alive, wings still beating.

I’m lost in my own migration,

Homing in on my true intention:

A slow and lonely death.

The Sylvia Plath Effect

(February 3, 2017)

Today I have received something which I have lacked.

I have received a diagnosis: I’m a Sylvia Plath.

I thought of myself as an intellectual, poetry my craft.

Didn’t know it made me mental to be inspired by the black.

The blackness that hides in ink with every verse and line

Had surely wrung her brain out, hanging thoughts on paper lines.

Is feeling things my weakness? Is writing just an act?

Is being who you really are something which I lack?

Each day I scrape the sentiment from moments others overlook.

I feel there’s so much to write about, so I collect it in my book.

Does keeping all these ideas of what I think and what should be

Make me a mental case made for holding poetry?

My dear, I’ve worked so hard on these collections of my soul

Just to find out having feelings can make you less than whole.

Female writers and creatives are more likely mental cases.

Hard to think that beautiful minds are told that to their faces.

The world I live in is quite cold, although I try my best to be

A visitor whose only job is picking up what’s sentimental to me.

This world is not my own. Here I’m an alien,

Segregated from all others—a lonely tiger in a pen.

I’m waiting for the moment in which I planned my escape.

I’ll take these collected works and free me from this state.

Here no one understands me; they doubt I’ll make it out.

One day I’ll prove them wrong; I’ll live a life once dreamed about.

Most people here are critics and hunters afraid of something great.

They aim to wipe out anything if they can’t relate.

If you are different, then you scare them.

Their opinions turn to facts.

If you’re not like them, they will snuff you out.

Unsure how the opposing mind reacts,

Does it pain someone to hear my words? Or trouble them to see

All I ever wanted was to be accepted for who I’m truly meant to be?

They’ve confused my striped mascara for the stripes on a tiger’s back.

I’m a showcase of a mental state because I feel things and react.

My only weapons are pen and paper; I write almost every day.

One day they’ll string me up for feeling things in a different sort of way.

If only I had known being myself would cause such discontent,

I’m sure I would’ve gone on writing, even if it meant my death.

Still, I toil in my mind, hunched over paper lines,

Waiting for the others to come take from me what’s mine.

I stand by every word I have written; I will not dare retract.

If feeling is a weakness, then strength I surely lack.

When the haters come to snuff me out, I’ll hand over my

pen, so they can stab me in the back and say I didn’t win.

Bleeding on my words, awash with stubborn blood.

You can call me crazy; still, I’d die for what I love.

My Love

(February 14, 2017)

My love is as wild as a stallion.

My love is as constant as the moon.

My love nurtures like a mother.

My love is as warm as the month of June.

My love is strongest when you’re feeling weak.

Not a moment too soon,

My love will lift you up;

My love is a hot-air balloon.

My love is as fearless as a teenager.

My love is as deep as the sea.

My love is a peaceful voyage.

Come, sail away with me.

My love is as sweet as golden honey.

My love is as pure as new-fallen snow.

I promise, baby, there’s nowhere my love won’t reach;

Nowhere my love won’t go.

My love is as powerful as the Niagara;

My love is flowing straight to you.

My love isn’t going anywhere

That isn’t aimed at you.

Star-Crossed

(February 15, 2017)

Two houses torn apart,

Two children unhappy at home.

Two wishes for a new throne,

A kingdom ruled by a noble pair.

An empire of love and kindness,

A legacy of hope and faith.

Two star-crossed lovers,

Bound to the universe’s fate,

Both etching their names on everything

Until the other’s found.

The name that they’d been searching for,

A wish once lost abounds.

I don’t want a lover to talk me down

From a fated loveless life,

To take the poison away and say

That we won’t ever be.

I want a lover to kiss these poisoned lips …

Wanting to die with me.

Wow

(March 17, 2017)

So surprised by you,

I’d just given up,

Given in,

Sold out on sellouts.

I wasn’t even seriously looking,

Just done with what love had become;

Something horrible, something cheap,

Something that made me feel worthless,

Empty mostly.

However, now all that has seemed to

Change simply by just switching my view

To you.

A kaleidoscope of wonderfulness,

So excited to learn more about you.

I had