Posted in loneliness, poetry, truth

Wake Me Up

Wake Me Up  The crumbs of yesterday aren’t moving, irritating this space with hyper-stillness: the trash on the kitchen table, yoga mat rolled out on the floor, electric guitar left plugged in, the empty beer bottle and  the peanut butter jar on the counter.  The ghosts of the girl I was yesterday  haunt the room with whispers  of what I couldn’t find today: an identity.    —Leanne Rebecca

This is the type of poetry I write when I’m listening to Wake Me Up When September Ends on repeat. I spent all night learning it on the guitar and the melancholy of it has infiltrated my entire body. A weird place to be right now.

Good night.

–Leanne Rebecca

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Poetry and music.

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