Tag: desire

Posted in art, poetry, writing

To Have You

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

To Have You I swallow nostalgia with the mucus building up in the back of my throat, a ball of what once was scratching as if I’d tried to take a pill without water. Behind every blink I see flashes of friendship, come and gone, the days when I never feared lonely afternoons, when tomorrow was a hopeful word, when I didn’t want to run from today and expunge yesterdays with a worn out pencil eraser, a smeared memory not quite deleted. Those were the days of club dancing, sleeping until noon, pajama parties and vodka, when none of us really cared that we didn’t have boyfriends because we had each other. I swallow the nostalgia, the distance of our cities stuck at the back of my throat, a lump growing like a tumor as we get older and farther away from the days of not caring that we don’t have boyfriends.

Today is one of the rare afternoons on a weekday that I have nothing to do. It’s in those times that I tend to think too much, thinking about every aspect of my life, and not in a healthy way. I have a habit of looking too closely at the minutes of a day, wondering too much about why I’m doing what I’m doing and making a list of all the things that are missing. I envy the people that live so carefree, loving the moment and embracing alone time with love. I wonder if they’re acting.

I hope you catch some sunshine today!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Unfurl

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Unfurl She felt scared to let go, bound up in crossed arms as if encased in a plaster cast while the bruises healed. It hurt when he touched her, hurt more when she liked it, wanting to unwrap her arms, uncoil the wire from her wrists and open her chest to feel the sun and the wind and the rain against her skin, unprotected and unfurled in trust. But she hugged her elbows tighter, scared to let go, binding her palms so she wouldn’t push this one away.

I can’t explain why it’s my favorite word. It’s something to do with how romantic it sounds and all the connotations it holds, both good and bad. It’s animalistic and peaceful. It’s simple and loaded with meaning. It’s perfect. Say it and listen to it’s beauty: unfurl. What’s your favorite word?

Today was certainly a Monday. Unfurl a little tonight.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, creative writing, poetry

Mischievous You

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Mischievous You I wanted to shut it all out, the thoughts of boys, the obsessing over the way I look for the boys, the glances into my future life with a boy, the frustrations of never finding the right boy, that the right boys don’t find me. Shut it out, so I could stop obsessing over what I was eating, to see the now, to love the now, to know I’m worth it. I set out to stop thinking, shut off feelings for a minute, just a couple of minutes for me, playing hide and go seek with freedom to breathe without racing heartbeats and blush in my cheeks, to guarantee tears wouldn’t find me for those two minutes of pause. I thought I could do it, distract desire, to trick the thoughts to get lost by turning up the volume so loud in my car that I couldn’t hear them anymore. But you snuck through, mischievous you.

Time has felt irrelevant for the past few days. Cheers to 2015 and the end to another weekend. Good night, my friends.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

The Search

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

The Search It was a bad match, he and I, the clash of sarcasms the platitude of the air between the unmerged points of view and the stubbornness to see into the other, trusting the existential suggestions of the stomach— duck under the table and run. Square one— the loss of faith in star alignment and the relief to escape the confinement of public image, rather be singing in the car than crossing and uncrossing legs in a restaurant, excusing myself to the bathroom— seething at the necessity of first dates, playing a game of would you rather be doing fill in the blank anything than continue the conversation with this someone that said I was beautiful.

Who knows what makes two people compatible. What is it about someone that ignites the spark and electrifies our desires? It’s breathtaking when that happens, but equally as profound is the absence of that spark, when just getting through dinner feels like crawling on hands and knees through the mud.

Have a wonderful Saturday my friends!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry

Back

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Back I whispered it when you turned your back, back to the party. I watched you throw back that shot and clench your teeth, head spinning, backwards stepping into the coffee table. I lean back into the wall, arms hugged to my solitude, holding what you didn’t hear against my stomach. You’re across the room now, back with the ones I’ll never be. Her smile. It’s too late to go back in time, for you to hear what I said, the words dispersed into fog, droplets of sentiment clouded by reticence, the rain that wouldn’t drop, stubborn background mist to wade between. I promise I said it. I’m sorry. Please come back to me.

Well, I’m back. For the first time since starting She’s in Prison I feel the need to say I’m sorry to all of you. I appreciate your support and I fear I let you down with my disappearance.

Life’s been a struggle. I recently started a new job and have been transitioning into that role. Also my grandma died a little over a week ago.

I’ve felt overwhelmed and honestly, I haven’t felt like writing. I’ve stared at the same blank page for two weeks. I couldn’t move my hand. Just stared.

But here I am. I’m trying and I thank you for listening.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Let Go

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Let Go I want him to squeeze me to the brim of can’t breathe, trapped beneath his muscles, saddled to his chest, counting his heartbeats. I remember how we fit, connected in embrace, synced in sentiment. Hold me and never let me go. I ache for the sensation, a single hug, a hunger settled in my tissues, a dull throb, a fever, a headache emanating from my neck and melting through the entirety of my body. He sits in my memory with a smirk, a smugness of dominance, distracting, waiting, not calling, holding me, his arms existentially holding me. Let go.

Almond butter creme filled dark chocolate #vegan #notsharing

That was my Monday. Bring it, Tuesday.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Freak

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Freak You don’t know about the paranoia nestled in my fingernails. I pick at my cuticles to get at it, peeling through to the blood vessels beneath. I haven’t heard from you in three days and the skin around my nails looks like an active volcano, lava crusting against cracked rock. I fear that you forgot me. I clench my fists in desperation, to quiet the obsession, the need to be needed. I concede to speak against your silence. My hands cramp in the waiting. I succumb to insecurity— the translucence of my ghost white complexion, that you don’t see enough of me to remember my presence. I rip at flesh with my teeth, the taste of blood staining my tongue. I measure my worth in your wants, a bad habit.

Posted in art, creative writing, poetry

Making Sense of It.

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Making Sense of It. A sheet divides the ramblings of my desires and the secrets beneath his ribs. I see the shadows of his hungers through the fabric, obscured intentions taunting when the light hits. Neither of us speak, playing the game, pursuing, hunting, manipulating. I only know what I feel.

This one may not be about what you think it is. Just consider it.

Have a great weekend!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

Speechless

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Speechless My wit atrophies into a freshly erased chalkboard, smeared with dust, remnants of brain activity dragged into a blur. I listen to what you say but cannot speak in return. I taste the chalk of words caked in my closed mouth, too dry to write them with sound. By the time I find a pen to transcribe my silence, you’ve left. I hit repeat on the same song 9 times while working on this post last night. Every play hit me harder than the last, a compounding obsession culminated in the fact that I’m talking about it right now. Maybe it means something and maybe it doesn’t. All I know is that today is Friday.

Sometimes I talk about the days of the week because I don’t know what else to say but most of the time I talk about the days of the week because their existence seems just as important as anything else. Wow, it’s Friday. Find a song you love and listen to it 9 times in a row.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, creative writing, poem, poetry, writing

Steeped Too Long

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Steeped Too Long I let him bathe in my brain until his tea leaves turned bitter, an after taste like ash wrinkling my face into a raisin. The boy that had infused my blood with caffeine, awakening desire in flavors erected through heat now revolted my palate, a reversal of obsession ended in one final sip. I don’t want this anymore.

Have a great weekend, friends. Listen to your hearts and when all else fails, write about it.

–Leanne Rebecca

 

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Expectations

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Expectations I wrote them in the silence of intolerance, unfair assumptions of a girl too concerned and consumed by the future that she couldn’t live up to her own expectations dictated in passive aggression to the people that care now.

Be kind to yourself.

It’s been a week since I posted a poem on here and I’ve been worried about it. I’m in a state of transition right now, trying to figure out what my future has in store. I’ve been asking a lot of questions lately, mostly boiling down to “what do I want in this life.” And though I can’t answer it in this moment, and though I’ve struggled with writing as a result, I know I need to take my own advice and be kind to myself. If all I have is today, I’m damn well going to grant myself a break and a hug and a smile (and peanut butter).

Be kind to yourself.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Under the Radar

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Under the Radar I felt the warning signs welling up like the early symptoms of a head cold— easily ignored. I swallowed the thoughts with each sip of vodka soda which dwindled as the toasts wrapped. To the Bride and Groom. They cut the cake and had a dance and everyone smiled and some cried as I kept quiet, afraid to speak and erupt with cynicism on this happy occasion, finding respite in the bathroom stall until sickness poured from my eyes, my sickness—my eternal loneliness soiling the love infested air of a wedding celebration. I ducked outside so no one would see the despair blur my eyeliner like a watercolor painting. I watched the guests raise glasses through the window, kicking off their shoes, shamelessly indulging in the contagion of glee, the pairs of them, hand in hand with their own brides and grooms of yesterdays and tomorrows while I wept in the darkness of a night’s sky. They hadn’t seen me leave, who would? I wasn’t tied to that innate buddy system of plus ones, relegated unintentionally invisible, forgotten amidst kisses and slow dances, biding my time until the glowing couple skipped into their getaway car and I shuffled back to mine, tired. Thanks for sticking with me. Life’s a journey and sometimes it gets busy, which is why I feel utterly lucky to have this magical thing called writing that lets me dance my way through it without rules. Have a fantastic Monday!

–Leanne Rebecca

 

Posted in art, poetry, writing

You and Me, Baby

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

You and Me, Baby I remember the 5 am day and I hold it with a clenched fist, grasping at 3 am tunes in your car, curling my fingers around the east of being in that moment, you and me, Baby, moonlight driving through the Boston streets. I feel the memory in my palm and squeeze tightly, holding hands with your imprint in my timeline, a forever history I won’t rewrite. I remember the 5 am day, the exhilaration of waking life and the turquoise shirt tossed to the backseat. You held me, just as I hold that glimpse of you now, in the lines of my hands, 5 am come and gone and how your face changed when the sun eventually rose.

A new week, a new day, a new opportunity to read poetry. 

Don’t forget to smile today!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Overlooked

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Overlooked I wore a pearl necklace to feel pretty. I wanted the attention, for the guy making my latte to look twice, for my coworker to shoot me a jealous glare, for a young girl to see me with envy gleaming in her eyes and think someday I want to be her. I wanted to taste affection’s dessert, the outpouring of desire in salivating mouths, to be the chocolate mousse that causes moans, irresistible. But all they saw was the necklace. I like your necklace. What a gorgeous necklace. They saw the chocolate shavings decorating the mousse, snacked on the garnish like kids sneaking a finger full of icing from the cake. They saw pearls on a mannequin and finished their window shopping with a cookie from the food court.

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Something Else

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Something Else The cheese in my guacamole. The distraction of a fragment, if only for a second, a moment of heaven— a Something Else. I covet that nonsensical anything else that washes the brain, that gifts reprieve from thinking about you. I didn’t want cheese in my guacamole. They should have indicated it on the menu.

It’s the little things.