Tag: light

Posted in love, poetry

Starlight

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Starlight There’s a time of night that slices bravery into pieces, and maybe those are the stars, just broken bits of your soul flickering like beacons calling to your physical body, just pieces of your heart figuring out how to keep shining when the expanse of the universe stands between reuniting you and those lonely bits. And somehow your eyes keep twinkling in those hours right after dusk, when the street lights ease into consciousness, illuminating the shadowed world around, reflected in the damp whites of your eyes, the great big world swallowing your courage to face the dark, to face tomorrow when the stars above seem so far away. I’m standing still, looking up at those pieces of me, the freckles of the sky, and I’m thinking about how random they’re scattered, no sense of alignment, chaotic, like settled confetti, and I’m wondering if I’ll ever find all those pieces, those bits of bravery lost to the clouds. And I keep thinking maybe that’s why I’m terrified to give my heart away, scared what would happen if the stars started to move. I wish I could close my eyes and see a map of where they’re headed, those bits of me wandering the universe, waiting, but nothing’s there behind my lids. —Leanne Rebecca

It’s an Ingrid Michaelson night tonight.

Posted in art, poetry, story

Flicker

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Flicker This candle will burn until the wax evaporates. I empty the wine in this glass, catch what’s left of me in its wake before the flame desiccates. I will write by the flicker of this light until the fire dies as intoxication spreads like smoke through my blood, the energy of blushed cheeks burning in need to capture the story of this moment before it’s too late to remember. —Leanne Rebecca

Honestly, I didn’t plan on writing today, but I lit a candle on my bedside table and couldn’t help myself. This one’s different, pointless almost, just a moment of life scribed with a glass of wine.

Good night.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in life, love, poetry

The After Poem

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

The After Poem I couldn’t tell if the light shinning in my room was from the sun or the street lamp camped outside my window. Time was irrelevant, days blurred together by Fireball, unsure if the sickly gnawing in my stomach was hunger or the early stages of a hangover. I rolled over and covered my head with my comforter, choosing the sweaty hotbox of blankets in the summertime over spilled light in my eyes. When I woke up again I heard my roommate talking. Morning. Another human. Still alive. I drank a glass of water and realized I felt ok. The slosh in my stomach had abated with sleep. All I’d needed was time. For the first time in two years I was ok, more than ok. Ready.

The most cathartic moment of struggle is when you realize you aren’t struggling anymore. Yesterday was my 25th birthday and today is a new beginning.

Have a great weekend my friends!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, image, poetry, writing

Naked

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Naked I stumble to the full length mirror on the closet, squinting through the sleep still in my eyes not yet adjusted to the artificial light, abrasive and unforgiving. I lift my shirt to assess yesterday’s damages, exposing the angles of manipulation to the judgment looking back, sucking it in from all sides, strategizing an outfit to minimize the lumps, a necklace to draw the eyes up, applying concealer to the body like I would a blemish, bathed in the makeup of a wardrobe.

I’d be hypocritical if I told you not to look critically at yourself. After all, I write poems that explore the complexities of who I am–the good, the bad, the perplexing, the mundane, and the ridiculous. I write to understand why sometimes I struggle with certain emotions and other times I can brush them off. I write to know more about myself, looking critically at the dark corners of my brain. I dive deep, drawing out secrets that hurt or burdens that tug down at my shoulders. I find this kind of analysis scary, but cathartic.

I know who I am and refuse to change. I’m stubborn like that.

All this being said, I also caution this critique of yourself, especially when it crosses into physical appearance. It’s always good to strive for something. It is never good to torture yourself in the process. I promise, you’re more beautiful than you know.

Tell me which aspects of yourself that you are head over heels in love with. I absolutely adore my sarcasm. I smile at my gift for all things random. I love that I can totally rock bedhead.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Time and Space

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Time and Space He grabbed my hand as we walked through the restaurant to our table. He’d never touched me like that, so declarative so suggestive of intention, as if expressing ownership. I liked knowing he’d made room in his ego for my occupancy, reading into the gesture all the way to my seat, writing futures in fantasy, imagining what would happen if he never let go. But the images crumbled jarred into nothing as I blinked away the 3 am dream, woken by the buzzing of my space heater and an empty hand, eyes refusing to adjust to the night in the absence of stars, the alignment that skipped over my heart.

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Concrete

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Concrete

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Fading

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Fading

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

Ode to Sleep

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Ode to SleepWhat can I say…I’m a 23 year old that’s still afraid of the dark.

Today’s poem is inspired by the Twenty One Pilots song bearing the same title. Check out their version of “Ode to Sleep” below and take a peak at the archives of all my TOP titled poetry HERE and every Saturday in the recurring series!

http://youtu.be/3StPYNJKS9Q

Posted in poetry, writing

Legacy

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Legacy

Today is day 2 of Heart Week on She’s in Prison in celebration and remembrance of all those born with congenital heart defects. On August 25th, I am walking in the St. Louis Congenital Heart Walk in memory of my sister and in support of friends, with the hopes of raising awareness and funds for CHD research. Join me by donating and/or finding a walk in your city!

Go HERE for more information.

 

Posted in poetry

Can You See?

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Can You See