Tag: heart

Posted in love, poetry

Heart in Her Head

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

The Heart in Her Head She covered up her heart with polka dots and sarcasm, playing at make believe under guise of changing the subject, diverting attention with sideways sunshine, casting her confidence with wide eyes, shoulders back, and sass to match his sight line. She covered up her heart beating louder than whatever she managed to play off with elementary flirtation— I make fun of you on the playground because I like you. He skipped over her heart because he couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear the falter in its electricity. She made sure of that, driving them away with words before their ears hit her chest and heard the magnets beneath her clothes tearing at the muscle beating, the pull stronger than logic, the heart bigger than her brain, the force that explained all the words, even the ones meant to pretend she didn’t feel a thing. —Leanne Rebecca

I haven’t posted two poems in one day since maybe the first month of She’s in Prison, over 2 years ago. I guess the inspiration is flowing tonight. I couldn’t help myself. I’ve never been one to have self control and though I could have waited to post this until tomorrow, I needed to get it out now.

Good night loves.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in love, poetry

Always and Forever

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Always and Forever I don’t know how I forgot about that book. I saw it in the window of a used bookstore last week, stumbling into childhood nostalgia as if jumping into a puddle, both feet all at once, splashed by flashes of of my mom cradling me in her arms, singing the made up melody to the song in that forgotten book. I’m amazed I learned to sleep without her hug, without her voice rocking me into dreams, without the comfort of a mother in the room down the hall, amazed I could wake without the gentle coaxing of her singing and the warmth of her arms holding me, assuring me that she’d keep me safe. Wake up Leanne, wake up Leanne, wake up, wake up, wake up, she’d sing, coaxing my eyes to open, teaching me through song how to fill a room with love, and bright eyed soak it up with the morning sun. I always felt ready for the day, nurtured by her hand in mine, fingers always and forever intertwined until the moment she knew she could let go, taking off the training wheels to my bicycle, and watch me ride alone. —Leanne Rebecca

I write this poem with extreme thanks for the blessed life that I’ve led, a carefree childhood and loving family. I recognize that Mother’s Day isn’t rainbows and butterflies for many people: mothers that have lost their children, children that have lost their mothers, broken families, reality. Even in my family, there’s an element of sadness on this day. My parents buried their first child when she was 16 months old. This is also the first Mother’s Day since my Grandma Genny died.

It’s easy to forget that many many emotions surround this day and where one family smiles another might cry. It’s important to empathize and take a moment to think about the true weight of this day. I find it allows me to appreciate what I have that much more. I’m beyond thankful to be filled with so much love.

I love you, Mom.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in poetry

Overload

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

She told him the truth to stop the conversations in her head, expelling the catalyst before it sparked and exploded, leaving bits of brain stuck to her bedroom wall. She coughed into her hand, choking up the seed that had implanted in her grace, violating her sophistication like a hijacker, a virus. He accepted the gift, the honesty wrapped up in a ticking package, listening with the guise of patience, imperceptibly backpedaling away to dispose of the bomb dropped in his lap. Their eyes locked, both pulsating with intensity, sapphires reflecting the depth of the burden she’d bestowed on his conscience, truths too intense for his heart to bear, her fight, not his. She recognized his reticence, reaching her hand back out as though comforting a child, a gentle expression of assurance. She thought for a second he wouldn’t let her take it back.

Have you ever had someone tell you a secret you wish you didn’t have to carry? When it comes to my friends, I would rather they unload their heaviest burdens on me and let me support them rather than have them hold those secrets alone. On the flip side though, that often means I’m very honest with opening up about my struggles and I wonder if sometimes I share too much. I never want to be a burden.

I’m of the mindset that we should always support those that we care about, no matter what. The best of friends should never give up on one another, no matter how heavy our honesty weighs. I encourage you to tell your friends you love them and make sure they truly know it, not because you told them, but because you were there to carry them on your shoulders when they couldn’t walk.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in love, poetry, writing

Integrity

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

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, poetry, writing

Chance

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Chance She convinced him with one look to take a chance on her lips, a sideways glance entrancing hands to wrap around waists and necks, to slip out of the strobe lights and into dark corners. He wrapped his attention around her mystery, a girl so soft-spoken she almost blended into the wall paint, emerging from invisibility, catching the corner of his eye, her downturned lashes faltering his control. He needed to know her. She fed on his intrigue, a vampire preying on his intoxication, his involuntary lust to touch, falling trap to her game, her mastery of magnetism. But he was just a number, a nameless mannequin to satisfy a night’s play, a symbol of her fear to take a chance on love.

I just moved into a new apartment. I feel like I’m starting a new life, starting over, taking ownership of the aspects of my life I didn’t own before. I asked my roommate tonight what her advice to you all would be if she could impart one piece of wisdom. By happenstance, she said “take a chance.”

Beautiful.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Irrational

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

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

The Circle

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

The Circle I look out for you with more composure than myself, bleeding your wounds between my own. You fall. I fall. I cradle you in my circle, heart fused to yours, sensing the falters of your beats in the contract of loyalty. It’s written in trust and sealed in faith, a promise more binding than love: Once you’re in the circle, I won’t let you leave.

This one is dedicated to my friends. I read an article yesterday talking about the differences between introverted and extroverted people. I fall right in the middle of both, equally outgoing as an extrovert and equally introspective as an introvert. What that basically boils down to is that relationships mean the world to me. I care for the people in my world with an almost unhealthy level of intensity. Annoying as it may be, they always know I have their back.

Have a great Sunday!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Photograph

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Photograph She nurtured the outside with as much sweat as she could, building her image with layers of lies to the point of almost believing, her ego stacked on new muscle, new clothes, a new haircut. She flaunted the addiction with calculated precision, presenting an edited version of self, tight skinny jeans to evoke jealousy, manipulating the perceptions around to see only what she wanted. They accepted the picture she showed them, unaware, uncaring what ticked inside, because a girl like that, so beautiful, so outgoing could never feel invisible beneath her designer t-shirts.

My friend Katie took this picture of me. I didn’t know she was taking it at the time, otherwise I probably would have made a silly face or looked away. There’s something about candid pictures that are the best because they expose a side of us we so frequently hide from the world.

Tonight’s song is “Fly” by Sleeping with Sirens. Loving their new album.

What are you most afraid for people to see? For me, it’s fear.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, rhyme, writing

The Not Quite

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

The Not Quite I only thought about it for one hour a day, in the hours of bedtime tea, my reflection staring back at me while brushing my teeth before the siphoning of light as night’s shadows settled in my eyes. Only in that time did I feel like the not quite, drifting to sleep in the lullabies that haunted the air in my lungs, analyzing too intensely the songs sung in the daylight. Only in that hour did I give permission to disclose this expression, my secret anxieties to flood my sheets as pinot noir pinked my cheeks, a rush of heat in a kiss of honesty. Only then did I question everything, the not quite searching for a reason, deciphering the origins of these lesions, falling into dreams gripped by a heart stripped to its vulnerability.

Uncharacteristic rhyme tonight. There’s something about this poem that I really love. I almost didn’t write one, just thought maybe I’d let the TV drown out thinking until falling asleep, but I couldn’t just ignore my inner poet fighting to come out. She didn’t want to be ignored and I’m so glad I listened.

Good night!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Daydream

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Daydream My brain got lost in making pancakes, hands moving in autopilot, measuring and mixing without need for consciousness, the steps ingrained in muscle memory. I wasn’t in the room, hovering over the griddle, sprinkling chocolate chips. I’d floated into my future, grasping at visions of the you that doesn’t exist and how you’d tickle my waist as I flipped our pancakes. I laughed and you hugged me from behind as I piled the cakes onto the serving plate your aunt gave us at our wedding. I’m sorry you had to go before you could eat any. I wrapped them in plastic so you could have them later.

I put my iTunes on shuffle this morning and the first 3 songs that came up all had the word “daydream” in the title. I wonder how much time in the day I spend lost in my own head, making up stories and pretending like I did as a kid. We never really grow out of that. We just learn to act out the scenes inside our brains instead of with toys.

I hope you have a glorious Saturday!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, twenty one pilots, writing

This Heart

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

This Heart She wrote her heart into a notebook, writing the beat in her secrets, infusing the lines with jagged tears, the breaks and palpitations of falling with no one to catch you. She hoped her heart would find a home in the pages, hugged by memories cast into words and stored on a shelf. But her heart refused to live only in ink, rebelling in her chest, punching at her lungs and demanding a voice more profound than poetry, screaming in severe chest pains for love.

This poem is inspired by “Before You Start Your Day” by Twenty One Pilots. It’s one of their most melancholy songs and brings me to tears just about every time I hear it. I listened to it on repeat as I wrote this poem. It requires deep introspection, allowing yourself to really feel what’s going on inside. This poem was hard to write but sometimes those are the most important ones to get out.

Sleep well, my friends.

–Leanne Rebecca