Category: friendship

Posted in friendship, love, poetry

Nothing Weird About It

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Nothing Weird About It They made fun of me— that I liked punk music, drawn towards androgynous men with eyeliner and tattoos, that I never outgrew the teenage emo stage. They called me names— derogatory jabs to bring me down, politically, socially, morally incorrect pet names, mongoloid, useless and naive. They teamed up to abuse me— attacking my secret vulnerability, extreme ticklishness, backing me into the corner of the room, physically pinning me down, outnumbered. They ignored my texts called me out flipped me off berated my diet told me I was weird. A gravitational field pulled me towards them— the sarcastic ones, friends gifting vulgarity as if “fuck you” had replaced the words “I love you.” I’d never trade any of it. —Leanne Rebecca

There’s no magic formula to finding best friends. They manifest from unlikely places and often the people you may have felt hesitant to let into your world end up being the ones that mean the most. Once you find them though, you never let them go.

Tonight I’m feeling thankful.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, friendship, poetry, writing

Roommates

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Roommates Every time I blow dry my hair I think of you, us sitting on the floor on opposite sides of the dorm because the outlets were under our desks. Remember how we didn’t vacuum the entire first semester and that place where the baseboards meet the carpet was caked with errant strands, a second carpet on top of the shitty stuff already there. I still use the same dryer six years later, the same $18 pink one with the retractable cord. I think I told you this but I always thought your hair was gorgeous, the type of hair that had an essence, that reflected the type of person you are, carefree and beautiful with hints of originality, like how you’d wear it in a loose knot on the top of your head. I swear you were the one that started that trend. I remember how you never brushed it, just combed through with your hands and how I stole the practice for three years after that, convinced that if I ripped through the knots with the claws of a brush that I’d do more damage than good. Mostly I just wanted to be like you.

Hopelessly nostalgic tonight. This one’s for one of my favorite people in this world.

Sleep well my friends!

–Leanne Rebecca