Posted in honesty, loneliness, poetry

It All

It All  It all hides what I know they know that none of us will say, that connections fade like the end of a song, that no matter how much wine we drink and how many laughs we discover, the ache still penetrates once everyone goes back home.  Some of us pour another glass, write a fucking poem  to keep the room from spinning, some of us sing the same song on repeat until we’ve hit all the stages of grief— pretending we’re not bothered, pretending we’re empowered, falling prey to obsessions that eventually break and that last glass of wine comes back up in perfect cue with the final ringing note and two fingers clutching desperately  to this idea that we can erase our transgressions, and live tomorrow  like we’re not embarrassed, as if we don’t know this is all wrong, and we’re hurting each other, suffering with mouths shut, fucking ourselves wishing the whole time he’d call and that I could be a better friend and drink less.   We never wanted to hurt you.  We never wanted to hurt ourselves. But we did it anyway because we didn’t know what to do when the song ended and the produced track fell silent and all we were left with was an empty bottle and an empty bed and no one to tell us what was right.

I used to write all the time, even when I didn’t have a poem in mind. I was a regular at a couple cafes and coffee shops and would set aside blocks of time to make myself at home in their booths, put my feet up, and figure out something to say that day. I can’t write like that anymore, can’t draw inspiration from nothing, concoct a story or rework a random memory into anything with any meaning. These days I only write when I have no choice, when something is going through my mind that I need to get out, and that itch to write is so consuming that I won’t be able to sleep until it’s out.

Today was about obsession. I listened to the same song on repeat all day long. I’m not kidding. This isn’t an exaggeration. I’m not so secretly crushing on the band’s frontman and I can’t get enough of it. The song, “In the End” by Black Veil Brides, is a metal anthem that begs for attention. There’s a reason the video has 49 MILLION views on YouTube. Today I added a couple more hundred to that count. After a day like that, trapped in the grips of passion, the outpouring of emotion, the crying of an entire generation summed up in about 4 minutes, I needed to write a poem. I NEEDED to write a poem. I needed my voice heard too.

Tonight I feel like I could write forever.

–Leanne Rebecca


Poetry and music.

19 thoughts on “It All

  1. The best moments are those when you NEED to write because the relief upon completing your creation is amazing 🙂 Inspiration happens when we least expected and poems start with a though. This one was a beautiful one 🙂

    1. I agree. There are times that inspiration can be created or purposefully drawn out without that initial spark, but rarely are the results as powerful as when we are struck with inspiration like lightning. Thank you!

      1. I know what you mean. When it HAS to be written, when it MUST come out, the resulting orgasm of words can leave you limp and exhausted, and sometimes, satisfied…

        1. It’s interesting that you mention feeling satisfied. Not sure I ever thought about that. I think I usually feel a sense of release, at least temporarily. It’s like grabbing hold of your innermost thoughts and emotions and transplanting them elsewhere. At least for a few minutes you’re frees of them.

          1. I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m ever willing to say that I’m satisfied by one of my poems. I’ll say that I like them or possibly love them, but I never think they are truly finished. Satisfaction sounds like such a conclusive word when in reality the poem may change tomorrow. I think catharsis sums up my sentiment because it’s an experience in the moment.

          2. I was thinking more in terms of the act of writing (Thank gawd I finally got that out of my system) than in finality, since an editor’s job is never done…

  2. I enjoyed this poem for a lot of reasons. There’s nothing classical bout it; it is off the wall. it is narrative; it is raw; it is honest; and above all it speaks in a language that many, particularly young people can understand. Brava!

    P.S. I can’t, have never been inclined / able to / motivated / driven to write unless something is bothering me or burning my brains out. So I’m with you there. And it doesn’t matter if you don’t have a daily writing routine, which is apparently what we should be doing, according to some writers … we write what we write; we are our own persons and that’s enough for me, apart from maintaining an ability and facility to be free thinkers.

    1. Thanks! I think I’m more honored by having my poetry described as “off the wall” than if you’d called it beautiful. Means a lot. I have heard so many writers say that you have to write everyday to really hone your craft. I couldn’t disagree more!

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