Posted in art, poetry, writing

Under the Radar

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


Adaptable  We ran in the rain even though our shoes squished and hindered,  pounds of excess burden laced around soggy feet as if trudging miniature water tanks below the ankles, trapping our freedom to move with agility, with ease.  We could have called it quits, huddled under a tree  until the torrent dissolved into a drizzle, could have cowered in our car, prissy as teacup dogs afraid to get their paws wet. But we ran, laughing as makeup stung our eyes, rendered blind, black dripping into our vision and pooling below in raccoon masks.  Sure our pace slowed as our intention adapted— just keep moving— but it didn’t matter, just like it doesn’t matter that I had to eat a different kind of cereal this morning, choice robbed by an empty box.  We crossed the finish line together. I don’t feel like this poem belongs to me. It belongs to my mom and my friends. It belongs to you and your struggles. We’re all in this thing called life, living parallel to one another, at times crisscrossing paths as we do our best to navigate the turns. I implore you, don’t lose sight of where you’re headed. Sometimes eating something new for breakfast can be a welcome change. The key is to recognize the opportunity to seize the deliciousness of the moment.

–Leanne Rebecca


Posted in art, poetry, twenty one pilots, writing

Kitchen Sink

Kitchen SinkIn the moment emotions can cripple, shooting searing pain throughout the entire body, but no matter how hopeless that instant in time feels, distance not only helps ease the pain, but offers understanding and perspective. I implore you to never give up.

I also implore you check out the Twenty One Pilots version of Kitchen Sink. I admit I’ve listened to this song too many times to count. Don’t be ashamed to hit repeat.

Thank you for taking a moment out of your Saturday to stop by and read a little poetry. I appreciate the support and I’d love to hear from you in the comments below or on Twitter. Come back next week for more TOP inspired poetry!