Posted in introspection, poetry, struggle

Ghost

Ghost  There I was, the girl sitting alone at a table in Whole Foods, licking chocolate off my fingers, heart in my head, guitar in my ears, stars lost in cynical fear, convinced no one could see my existence under the florescent hue. So I licked away, sucking on every knuckle until I’d captured all the chocolate, hands cleansed of the transgression, no trace that it ever happened, no evidence that I’d been there at all.   Tomorrow is my dead sister’s birthday, but you’d never know that.

Tonight is one of those nights that I could rant forever about what’s on my mind. Often though, I feel like I’ve already exhausted writing about my struggles. There are only so many times you can fill page after page with emotional drama, self-doubt, existential questioning, etc. There comes a point where you have to acknowledge it but figure out a way to channel everything you’d scribble in terribly written prose into something productive. I don’t want to dwell on struggle. I want to live today and love today. Everything is fleeting.

Happy birthday dear Becky.

–Leanne Rebecca

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Posted in art, poetry, writing

Irrational

Irrational  I sat inverted into introspection, ankles wrapped in tension, and focused on my insides, trying to perceive the sensations of the organs, convinced like a hypochondriac that I could feel something there.   Fear imploded into my chest as if my heart had turned to lead, heavy with emotions that didn’t need to exist yet, or at all.   I couldn’t feel the ground when I stood.

None of us can keep it together 100% of the time, especially when we’re afraid. We eventually learn that it’s ok to fall apart. We become pros at putting the pieces back together, so good in fact that most people around us wouldn’t know we were struggling unless we wrote a poem about it and put it on the internet.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Transient

Transient

Anniversaries are a funny thing. One year ago I started She’s in Prison on the whim of a weeknight. 365 days and 305 posts later it’s just another Wednesday, another day to pick up a pen and another day to wonder how the hell I became a poet in the first place.

Whether you’ve been with me from the start or whether this is the first time you’ve ventured to She’s in Prison, thank you for stopping by and choosing a seat on this poetry train. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one riding.

Now here’s some truth: I appreciate YOU and I daresay I might love you. Share the love in the comments below or on Twitter!