Sometimes on a Friday night, even when you’re tired and worn, and even when it’s late and no one else in your house is awake, you still find inspiration. You’re not sure from where, because your brain is dead and your back is sore and you’re slightly sad for no reason and way too sober. You find a poem in the nothing and that’s pretty cool.
One of these days I’m going to assemble all of the commentary I’ve written on here. I bet I’ll find many poems hidden there too amidst the blocks of unrefined text.
By the way, apparently my last post was my 500th poem. I got a notification on my phone shortly after I published it. Cheers to 501 poems on She’s in Prison. Thanks for sticking around for the journey.
Goodnight.
—Leanne Rebecca
She's in Prison 