Posted in poetry

Root Bound

Root Bound

The bittersweet truth of struggle is that it serves as unending inspiration for creativity. The beauty of poetry is that it serves as an outlet for struggle. The sadness of poetry is that it is eternal, which means the struggle becomes entombed in history.  I’ve been writing a lot lately, thankful for the inspiration but fighting the sadness of it.

Thank you for reading 🙂

–Leanne

Posted in desire, love, poetry

If We’d Never Met

If We’d Never Met  I thought about you this week, flashback tripped by a song you told me to listen to months ago.  I wonder if I purged these memories, cleansed of you and your ghost, would I lose the strength built in their wake.  Could I trade this newfound backbone for a life without the ache buried  in the rings of my frame, forgetting the moment my heart sped, falling faster than the warning of the break?  Would I give up discovering the complexity of love, a depth unlocked as my desire awakened hearing my voice for the first time, vulnerable, flawed, scared, alive in exchange for freedom?  —Leanne Rebecca

I looked at the clock around 9:45 tonight and thought, man, I’m going to get to bed early, finally get a decent amount of sleep to kickstart my Monday without watering eyes and sluggish limbs. But then the itch began, the compulsion tingling behind my forehead, radiating to my fingertips, the cusp of a poem aching to spill out. So here we are, an hour later, an hour of sleep lost to creative whims.

Good night, my friends.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in love, poetry, writing

To Take the Chance

To Take the Chance

I’ve loved and been broken, dated again and been disappointed, and started the process all over again. Putting your heart on the line is exasperating, terrifying, and exciting and sometimes we feed off that exhilaration and put ourselves out there and other times we can think of nothing worse than going on a date. I wish I could say that taking the chance on love is always worth it. I’ve had several experiences where the heartache outweighed the benefit of telling someone that you like them. I just hold on to the hope that one of these days I’ll find that person that is as stoked to take the chance on me as I am for them. In the meantime, I write.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in love, poetry

Destiny

Destiny  She knew she was a poet when she let the tears break and blur the facade on her face, running black from the tip of her nose to the page below her palm.   She collected all the faith she’d once put into him in an envelope and sealed it away, letting the waterfall smudge all the words she’d ever written.  She knew she was a poet in that moment, the need to write her heart as crippling as the moment she met him, just a memory, a fleeting love, old journal entries filed away.   He was gone, but she wrote anyway, falling over and over for her passion.  She didn’t need to learn to love again, because her soul was already home.

It’s ok to cry, always. I wrote this one in the last five minutes through a waterfall on my face. I’m so thankful to have all your support on here. Means everything.

This one is for my friend Katie.

Love,

Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Fundraiser

Fundraiser  They all shared the same memory,  all those moms and dads dressed up in black, shirts ironed, wined glasses drained, purple teeth exposed in opposition to the tragedy lacing their hearts.  She told me she couldn’t look at any more pictures, the blue tinged lips, more tubes than days old, the hands they’d never hold again, ghosts smiling slide after slide on the screen in the corner of the room, the babies that inspired the sad moms and dads to tie their ties and sip wine, signing checks, praying for miracles for the sake of someone else’s child.

Dedicated to my sister Becky, whom I never met.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Tiny Brains

Tiny Brains  It was a Sunday night, the day before Labor Day.   We laid on the ground outside of the bowling alley.  She sat on the curb first. I mimicked her artistry, knees crumpling,  muscles oozing like jelly, slinking to the ground in a glob until I’d surpassed sitting and settled on horizontal stargazing.   We played out the therapy session, a cement couch counting the justifications— why I texted him,  why she felt betrayed— we vomited honesty, beer-numbed confessions of hearts the size of our confusion, the hearts that led us to fall on our backs in a parking lot and brains too small to sit on a bench.

Katie, this one’s for you.

I’ve gathered from my Facebook newsfeed that Monday was rough. Too many hearts and brains are fighting. Thank God it’s Tuesday, folks. Call a truce, and then celebrate with pancakes.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

The Saga of a Heart

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, creative writing, poem, poetry, writing

Steeped Too Long

Steeped Too Long	  I let him bathe in my brain until his tea leaves turned bitter, an after taste like ash wrinkling my face into a raisin. The boy that had infused my blood with caffeine, awakening desire in flavors erected through heat now revolted my palate, a reversal of obsession ended in one final sip. I don’t want this anymore.

Have a great weekend, friends. Listen to your hearts and when all else fails, write about it.

–Leanne Rebecca

 

Posted in art, Guest post, poetry, writing

Endless Remembering by Lori Ortbals

Endless RememberingI know today’s guest poet well. She’s my mother and happens to be the most selfless person I’ve ever met. Let this poem be a reminder that love abounds in multiple forms: the love for yourself, the love for a partner, the love for a friend, the love for a parent, the love for a sibling, the love for a daughter, and the love for a memory glistened in tears of bittersweet heartache. Today as you eat your candy hearts, don’t forget to also love the one beating inside your chest.

Becky PictureMy mom, Lori Ortbals, founded the Missouri Chapter of the Children’s Heart Foundation in 2010 in memory of daughter Rebecca Lyn. Becky died of a congenital heart defect at 16 months old. Lori started the chapter with the hope that no other parent would have to feel the loss of burying their child from a CHD. All funds raised go directly towards research to develop new technologies and techniques to save lives like Becky’s.

When she’s not volunteering at a fundraising event or running board meetings, my mom enjoys spending time with our family, cherishing every moment to its fullest potential. She’s an avid reader, moviegoer, and superhero.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Posted in art, poetry, writing

But Seriously

But Seriously

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

A Car, A Torch, A Death

A Car, A Torch, A DeathNow’s the moment when I admit weakness…

I’ve failed to post my regular Saturday series for weeks. I have no excuse, except to say I’m human and anything but perfect. But it’s the new year and time to get back on track.

So, per my usually usual Saturday series, I give you a poem inspired by the title of a Twenty One Pilots’ song. Find the archives of all my TOP titled poetry under my featured tab and as always, give a listen to the band that’s held my hand with interlocked fingers for all of 2013 below.

Posted in Music, poetry, twenty one pilots, writing

Fall Away

Fall AwayThis piece jumped out at me this morning as I scoured my Word document of poems named after twenty one pilots tracks, my ongoing Saturday series on She’s in Prison. Something about this poem grabbed me as I reflect and recover from a car accident a couple days ago.

As always, check out the twenty one pilots version of “Fall Away” below and find the archives from my other TOP titled poems HERE.

http://youtu.be/EeCJIkVZ4Ew