Posted in poetry

What Then

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

What Then I tried to write a poem about stagnant energy, the end of the night, when social adrenaline fades, drained away like mascara down the sink, washed and erased as if it didn’t matter that it took 30 minutes to perfect your eyes. I wanted to write about that overwhelming melancholy, the drive alone back home after a party and the sourness of regret pouting on the other side of the sunrise, but I couldn’t find the motivation to find rhyme in fragmented time, to piece together an explanation for why the air around is pulsing with questions and why I can’t perceive of how we came to be here now. What then do I write of stagnant energy, of depression extracted from secret desires and sunsets expired hours ago? None of it is fair. None of it makes sense. —Leanne Rebecca

Sometimes you need to write a middle of the night poem and acknowledge that it might be raw or not make sense and that the unedited version is better than if you’d reworked it over and over again until it was “perfect.”

Good night!
–Leanne Rebecca

Author:

Poetry and music.

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