Tag: imagination

Posted in dream, poetry

Cover of Dusk

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Cover of Dusk I imagined their story as I walked by their house: a couple in their early thirties one year old daughter asleep in her room the dinner party winding down inside glasses of chardonnay clinking pearl necklaces and red lipstick smudges how they’d all been friends since college. I slowed my pace as the haze of their perfection tightened in my throat, prey to the outsider’s perception: a brick walkway leading to their front door trimmed rose bushes silhouettes mingling in light cast shadows through their windows. A mosquito bit my arm, the signal to lengthen my stride, move past fantasies of someone else’s family, stop obsessing over picket white fences, the bad date I went on the night before, that it would be years, before finding that dream for myself. I walked on, cheeks soaking up the sweat and tears beading on my skin in the humidity, thankful at least for the setting sun, the cover of dusk to mask this headspace so no one would have to know that seeing their daughter’s swing hanging on a tree in their front yard made me cry.

Posted in art, poetry, time

Tricked

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Tricked The room dimmed with the sunset, the space that hours before had been filled with conversation— friends drinking champagne, investing fractions of their lives in sharing time— now faded into shadow, the imprint of connection dying as we drifted back to segregation, alone in introspection’s isolation as if the party had never happened, as if he’d never talked to me, as if they’d never met, as if our imaginations tricked us into believing loneliness isn’t a chronic disease. —Leanne Rebecca

There’s something about the close of the weekend that requires epic introspection. Now is the time, when everyone is winding down and setting their Monday morning alarm clocks, to take a few moments and reflect on what’s running most prominently through your brain.

Sometimes I struggle with these hours of solitude, feeling lost in their isolation, afraid of the silence. Other times I welcome the freedom. Tonight I feel both with equal weight.

Sleep well my friends!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in destiny, poetry, writing

Reclaimed

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Reclaimed She’d relinquished her existence long ago to everyone and everything but her own volition, accepting she couldn’t control the crying of the clouds, the sky exerting dominance on the people wrapped underneath like prisoners of a dictator. She let ominous intimidation tell her how to feel: tears breaking when it stormed, sadness infused in flash floods, billowing into the drains on the street, running below the city in an undercurrent of gloom. She lost sight of possibility, that even if it rained she could dance, that happenstance could align in spite of the wind fighting opposition with gusts of yesterday’s debris, that if she looked at the clouds from a different angle she could imagine whatever shapes she wanted. She stumbled with the sky’s discretion, thrown whatever direction its will decreed, falling to her knees, begging for mercy as her heart admitted defeat. She stared up at the sky, at the expanse of gray beckoning and heard nothing, realizing only then, that she’d imagined the grip on her destiny, that she could reclaim the faculty of living and just be.

This one is inspired by “Fight Song” by Rachel Platten. It’s been my anthem over the past month or so.

Have a great rest of your weekend!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in cheesy, poetry

Hopeless Romantic

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Hopeless Romantic I imagine tripping during a hike, falling into his arms as he helps me find my feet again. He lingers with letting me go, staring through my rustled bangs beyond my blue eyes, him losing balance, falling together.

We all have our cheesy moments.

Goodnight my friends!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Unicorn

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Unicorn You were a figment of daydream, all the quirks and intricacies of my little girl fantasies manifested in reality. Charmed, I fell, against better judgment, stumbling as though intoxicated under spell, blinded by the pixie dust twinkling around your head. I should have known I was imagining you in that moment, hallucinating, because after I wiped the dust from my eyes, I saw you weren’t perfect after all.

Listen to All Time Low. That’s my only advice for the day.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Under the Influence

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Under the Influence I wept her poems from my eyes ink mixing with freckles wandering the hollows of emotion sewn in the simplicity of her voice. I read them again cross legged as still as silence steeping tea turned bitter. Nothing made sense anymore the eruption of water the knots in my shoulders the unmoving air the last page of a masterpiece, finished, the anticipation of change the waking up the next morning in the same position I fell asleep.

This poem came out of nowhere. I was taking a walk, imagining stories in my head, and it just hit me in the face.

One of my friends lent me Ararat by Louise Gluck last week and I think it changed my life. Everything looks the same from the outside–same job, same breakfast foods–but something’s different, even if I can’t articulate exactly what that means.

I don’t usually publish poems at night. Sweet dreams and thanks for reading.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

Dissonance

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Dissonance It’s sexy- the tension in his voice that infuses each note with dichotomy— masterful but not easeful, as if he’s lamenting inner conflict in gravel-laden imperfection. I’m drawn to the impurity lacing his words like a birth mark—unique to him, a signature interrupting the underlying smoothness of his skin. It turns me on, the dissonance of his poetry, the fluidity of his screaming, the crying of his passion. I listen again, falling into imagination’s cloud— who is the boy that owns that voice, that aches his story on the radio?

I’ve been on a Ghost Town kick lately. I first discovered the band about a year ago, listened a little, but for whatever reason wasn’t hooked. However a few weeks ago one of my friends made me a playlist with their song “Acid” on it. It’s a track I admittedly repeat over and over again as I’m driving. You could call me obsessed. The vocals draw me in almost like junk food. I just want more!! It got me thinking, what is it about certain songs or certain voices that attract different ears? For me, it’s the grit, the pain behind the sound. I’d always rather listen to something messy that throws emotion in your face than something perfected with stereotypical beauty. We all have our own preferences though, and mine certainly change with the seasons.

Happy Saturday!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

The Coffee Shop Series

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

The Coffee Shop Series…hidden in the recesses of my notebook.

 

Posted in art, Music, poetry, twenty one pilots, writing

Oh Ms. Believer

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Oh Ms BelieverToday’s poem is inspired by the title of the song “Oh Ms. Believer” by Twenty One Pilots as part of my ongoing Saturday series. If you have a second, check out the archives of my TOP inspired poetry and give a listen to their music below. Happy day!

http://youtu.be/a6_8RbdlPsw

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Epiphany

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Epiphany

Posted in art, poetry, writing

The Big If

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The Big If

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Concealed

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Concealed

Posted in art, Guest post, Josh Dun Poetry Corner, Music, poetry, twenty one pilots, writing

Trying on Clothes

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Trying on ClothesDon’t forget to check out the archives of the weekly Josh Dun Poetry Corner! (Also, don’t forget to buy tickets to the next twenty one pilots show near you.)