Tag: life

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Emotional Creature

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Emotional Creature There's nothing wrong with me. I'm swallowed by feeling, the realness of feeling, feelings not wrong, just deep, deeper than yours, extreme manifested in shakes, holding my stomach. There's nothing wrong with me. I stand in front of the toilet weigh the pain, it hurts no matter what, hurts more than you could know. I'll never say, just hold my stomach in silence. There's nothing wrong with me. I curl my knees in, shoulder crammed to the floor pools beneath my face drowning in feeling. I feel. I live. I feel. There's nothing wrong with me.

I’m currently obsessed with “Out of the Woods”on Taylor Swift’s new album and that is the most important news I have to share. Sing with me.

Have a splendid Wednesday, friends.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Almost

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Almost The day before Thanksgiving— department store shopping— orange and red and green and gold— trees of candy gift sets— sales associates handing out perfume samples— a scream— the grating of the escalator— an 8 year old boy laying across the handrail, clinging— two women prying his body from over the edge— the pause of breathing— the kid enveloped in arms— my mother’s tears as she stood.

Today is the day that Facebook feeds are cluttered with lists. We pick out five or six things we’re thankful for like family, friends, food, faith, etc. I’m not going to do that here. While I am thankful for my parents and my cat and my guitar and my favorite restaurant, today I want to reflect on something a little different.

Lately I’ve been working on loving myself and loving my own company, finding happiness in times of solitude. I went through a period where I lost my admiration for myself and so today, on Thanksgiving, I am thankful for me. I’m thankful for my strength to fight. I’m thankful for my individuality and my love for writing. I’m thankful that I know exactly who I am and I’m thankful that I love her. I am thankful that I am alive.

I pray that you never lose sight of yourself.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Holding On

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Holding On He didn’t remember gasping at 4am, suffocating on his own spit, drowning from the inside out, tinged the same gray-blue as his eyes squinting through water at the hospice nurse as she suctioned his airway. He woke the next day to a ring of his children around his bed, aged faces laced in silence, not knowing what to say to a man that watched his wife die two weeks earlier, a spectator from three feet away. Dad, it’s ok, they spoke up, words disappearing like wind, an obligatory breeze disregarding how close he’d come to letting go. He didn’t know why they’d come or why they were blinking tears, but they were sorry his throat hurt.

I’ve been MIA. I know it. You know it too and I owe you an explanation:

I’m currently editing a poetry book that has been a couple years in the making. It’s nearing the stage of “completion,” which I put in quotations because I’m not sure I will ever be able to say I’m 100% satisfied with my writing. Poetry is a process that takes time and evolves as we grow and change. Anyway, I’m throwing myself into the collection and sadly as a result, I’ve held my breath on here.

I’m sorry!

Posts might be sparse in the upcoming weeks as I work through the editing process and enter into the nightmare that is the publishing world. I promise I will never forget you and even in the silence, I hear you.

Thank you for your patience.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

The Saga of a Heart

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

The Saga of a Heart

This was one of those poems that poured out without intention or thought. 20 seconds of real life. 

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Privilege

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Privilege I licked my spoon in the pleasure of indulgence, treating my mom to a couple glasses of wine and two chocolate desserts, both split in commitment to forgetting about men. I ordered another glass and she laughed at my hesitance. This is what life’s for, she said, she said, a woman that owned one dress growing up, a dress her sister had sewn her.

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Stance

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Stance It’s the stance of someone beaten. I don’t need to know the origin of your bruises or why you hunch your shoulders to deflect eye contact. I hear it in your silence and see it in your hiding, buried beneath pretend apathy, the lies of a fight too fresh to pass the lump in both our throats. I’m not asking you to speak, but beg you to believe we can look west together, comrades of pasts not yet set. We’ve got time to face each other when the sun bleaches the marks on your heart. Writing has been a struggle lately. I spent at least a week and a half incapable of finishing a single poem. I’d start them, sometimes even reaching the second to last line, and then shut my notebook. But this one just happened. I didn’t fight for it or resent it halfway through. It was organic and soothing and I think I know why. I’ve been focusing on me lately, focusing on what I’m feeling and holding on to negativity like a magnet. This poem was a break from that. It’s about someone else and I’m super relieved that something inside me compelled me to reach outside my own brain for inspiration.

Have a great week!

–Leanne Rebecca

 

Posted in art, Guest post, poetry, writing

Guest Post: Laura Ortbals

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

I have a fear of becomming stagnant my body atrophies and my life fades away I need to keep moving but I am terrified of where that might take me.

This one is by one of the most amazing women I know: my sister. She posted this poem as a facebook status, but I couldn’t simply let it die as soon as our news feeds updated. She captured an emotion I’m sure we all share in some capacity and that kind of resonance deserves recognition.

Happy Saturday!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

You and Me, Baby

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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

Flushed

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Flushed

How’s everyone doing? Sometimes it’s odd to think that I’m sharing poem after poem with all of you beautiful people without really knowing you. The truth is, I want to know who you are and how your day is going. I want to know what brought you here and what you’re thinking about this Friday in early May. I want to meet you, to get coffee with you, and steal inspiration from your stories. Life’s better when we take the time to acknowledge one another. This is me acknowledging you, whether you’ve visited She’s in Prison before or whether this is your first time. Please don’t be afraid to say hello! I’m on Twitter too if that’s more your style!

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Inside Out

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Inside Out

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Transient

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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!

Posted in art, poetry, writing

This Life

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This Life

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

Trapdoor

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TrapdoorThe funny thing about writing is that it’s impermanent. It’s just thoughts we cast on paper or in word processors, easily deleted or lost and impossible to recover in word for word accuracy. I wrote one version of “Trapdoor” last summer but today when I looked at it, I hated it, judging every line until before I knew it, I’d written an entirely new version. The only line that remains from the original is the first one.

This poem is inspired by “Trapdoor” by Twenty One Pilots and per usual, I implore you to listen to their music. It’s no secret they’re my favorite band. You can check out the archives of my other pieces titled after their songs in my TOP archives page and come back next Saturday for another post in the series!

Are there any bands that inspire your creativity?

http://youtu.be/-tzQxqn9Z3g

 

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Leave your comments in the dungeon.

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

Tomorrow

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

TomorrowSometimes when I need a little help in the inspiration department I ask my friends to recommend a song, and then I write whatever comes to mind as I listen to the vibe and the lyrics. “White Daisy Passing” by Rocky Votolato taunted my somber side but ultimately stimulated that crazy thing I like to call “hope.” It’s an emotion that’s easy to lose yet easy to find again with a little bravery. Anyway, give the song a listen and check back again next Sunday for my regular series–poetry inspired by music on my playlist!!

What is your favorite song right now? Send me an email at shesinprison@gmail.com or leave a comment below and I might choose your selection to inspire my next poem!