Posted in death, life, poetry

Never Again

Never Again  I do what I can to avoid that place, that head space when I needed an end to escape friendlessness, the torment not being able to feel my own breathing, a carcass driving aimless going nowhere, those days alone listening to song after song, wishing home felt like home, wishing my voice could rise, that invisible me could be seen.   Those days may have died as I learned to dispose of emotion, crying out the suicide, leaving the drops of intention to dry in a trail behind. But the scar still haunts, still taunts at this heart, whispers no one else can hear or know to understand, to allow my hand to hold a little tighter, to feel their pulse against mine, to help me feel alive.   I do what I can to avoid that place, incessant texts, aggressive pursuit of connection, random sex and make out sessions, singing as loud as scabbed lungs will allow, forcing your fingers in mine and pulling you close, begging you to stay so that I’m not alone, afraid, betrayed by the yesterdays when the threat of death was the only time I felt relevant.   —Leanne Rebecca

Tonight I’m obsessed with the song “Scene Four – Don’t You Ever Forget About Me” by Sleeping with Sirens. I’m pretty sure my roommate hates me because I just played it about 7 times in a row:

Don’t you ever forget about me
When you toss and turn in your sleep
I hope it’s because you can’t stop thinking about
The reasons why you close your eyes
I haunt your dreams at night
So you can’t stop thinking about me
Don’t stop thinking about me

Do you really think you could see this through
Put on a smile and wear it for someone new
Don’t you do it
‘Cause I know I’m not the easiest one to love
But every ounce I have
I invest in you
But no one said love’s not for taking chances

Hitting home.

–Leanne Rebecca

Advertisements
Posted in love, poetry, writing

Integrity

She succumbed to influence, forgetting to trust her heart, realizing she’d never trusted her heart, not with as much zeal as it deserved.   She let them tell her how her heart should beat, how many clicks in a minute it should feel, which minutes deserved her soul and which she needed to let go.   They told her when her heart was wrong and when her heart was weak and she believed them and tried to reshape its lines.   One day, after all the breaks her veins twisted in knots, confused, she realized she’d lost her beat, breathing someone else’s thinking.   In that moment, she was free to fall, but with integrity, to fall poetically, trusting she’d fly.

I’m no stranger to crying. I cry during ASPCA commercials. I cried at the end of the newest Cinderella movie. I cry when they name the winner of The Voice. Rarely, however, does poetry make me cry. Bet you didn’t see that one coming.

I usually write poetry as a response to crying whereas few poems have truly moved me to tears. Today as I was sitting at my desk, listening to Pandora like any other Monday at the office, Tom Petty’s song Free Fallin came on and I needed to write this poem, didn’t have a choice.

I reread what I wrote, and suddenly, my throat started tightening. Something about this poem makes me cry, even as I look at it now. I guess it’s because this poem is my heart.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, love, poetry, writing

Pursuit

Pursuit  I would have killed myself long ago if I hadn’t found this purpose to feel, admitting the air coming in, even though it burned like salt on a cracked lip.  The sting on my flesh faded, but the memory of sensation remained. I never want to forget what it feels like to feel because numbness freezes the lungs useless.  The pursuit of you inundated my airway with water, rendering breathing that much harder, but at least my chest was moving, at least I felt like part of the living.

It’s strange what can inspire a poem. For me it could be a song or an emotion or a chair sitting in the corner of a room. Today it was the word pursuit. I saw it in a poem I was reading and something sparked inside me. I knew that word had a poem of its own that I needed to get out. So I typed it at the top of my Word doc and without knowing what would flow, I began to type.

I don’t say it enough, but I really do love you guys. Thanks always for reading my unfiltered verse.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Too Much

Too Much  They call it Pain Tolerance, measured in a threshold determined by the wearer, a number of fingers you can withstand before two hands shortfall the scale,  a 10 spectrum limit that fails to consider all the categories of this feeling’s complexity.  Am I at a 9 because I’m still breathing?  There’s a numbness beyond comprehension that confuses the brink of my endurance, as if the ache resides in negative space. an inverted sensation, the vast white surrounding the ink blotches  that could explain this intoxication. I changed the last word of this poem at least 6 times, and with each revision, I found new meaning inside my own lines. I implore you to take away your own interpretation. Sure, I wrote the poem, but the meaning is not absolute. What it means to you is just as significant as the reason I wrote it. I write poetry for me, but you read it for you. We’re equals in this process.

Happy Monday!!

–Leanne Rebecca

 

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

Precarious

Precarious

The word of the day is ‘precarious.’ I caught myself relying on its beauty multiple times this morning, so clearly, I needed to write a poem based upon it. This one’s inspired by “Basically, I” by Robert Delong. I discovered his music a little less than a year ago and I remain a fan. He’s a cool dude, too. Thanks for taking a break from your Sunday to stop by for a little poetry.

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Solid

SolidThis poem is a blend of old and new, the emotions of past and the verses of now amalgamating into a piece that allows me to reflect and forces me to reinvent the meaning behind the message. In other words, I edited it. As always, thank you for taking a few moments out of your day to stop by She’s in Prison. Don’t be shy; say a quick hello below or shoot me a tweet!

Posted in Music, poetry, twenty one pilots, writing

The Run and Go

The Run and Go

As a poet and twenty one pilots fanatic, it made perfect sense to write my own verse to the titles of all their tracks and post them as a new Saturday series on She’s in Prison. Despite last week’s brief hiatus due to Heart Week, from this point forward, all Saturday posts will be part of the series. As always, thank you to twenty one pilots for being a never-ending source of inspiration. If you haven’t seen it yet, check out my previous TOP titled poem “Implicit Demand for Proof” and  check out their version of The Run and Go below.