Posted in childhood, poetry

The End of Summer

The End of Summer  This isn’t working,  trying to write this poem about the end of summer, the innocence walked and lost,  the giggles of kissing a boy on the cheek underneath the playground slide, holding hands in secret, when sundresses were sweet, bad haircuts were accepted, expected, and no one cared if ice cream dripped down elbows.  I don’t want to be that poet that’s trapped in childhood, recounting expected images, accept that nothing about growing up in a suburban middle class family was unique. We all caught fireflies in jars at dusk and walked through neighborhoods to the pool, jumped off swing sets  and drew lines in mulch to see who landed further.   In my head I’m still the girl with sun kissed cheeks, freckles of youth dotting my nose, craving popsicles,  casting my arms out in a T and twirling until I’m so dizzy my laugh cramps in my stomach, but it’s the end of the summer and there’s a weird emptiness beneath my heart.  Nothing’s the same as it used to be.   —Leanne Rebecca

Nostalgia central.

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Posted in art, honesty, poetry

Fade

Fade  Forgotten at 80 miles an hour, headlight after headlight found and lost again, boxes kicking up dirt from the road, moving the dust of passing time, the remnants of traction shifted in changing flight, machines, the people inside faceless to the night.  I’m invisible as I drive and know the tail lights ahead can’t see me cry or wonder why my hand rips at my hair as I choke on lyrics, words caught like flies in my windpipe, bowing to the mercy of whatever needs to be screamed and silenced before I reach home.  Would he notice if I faded into the shadows between the street lamps, pulled the car to the side of the road and abandoned this enterprise? Or has he forgotten my face,  my name as I speed along the highway in my box, collecting dead bugs, nameless to sight.

This poem didn’t capture everything that I needed to say tonight. I’m not sure what it is that I need to say right now or really what emotion I’m currently feeling. Everything tonight is nameless and blurry, and that’s how I feel about this poem. It works because it’s messy and introspective and unclear and honest, but it’s still missing something. It’s missing heart.

Good night my friends,

Leanne Rebecca

Posted in introspection, poetry, struggle

Ghost

Ghost  There I was, the girl sitting alone at a table in Whole Foods, licking chocolate off my fingers, heart in my head, guitar in my ears, stars lost in cynical fear, convinced no one could see my existence under the florescent hue. So I licked away, sucking on every knuckle until I’d captured all the chocolate, hands cleansed of the transgression, no trace that it ever happened, no evidence that I’d been there at all.   Tomorrow is my dead sister’s birthday, but you’d never know that.

Tonight is one of those nights that I could rant forever about what’s on my mind. Often though, I feel like I’ve already exhausted writing about my struggles. There are only so many times you can fill page after page with emotional drama, self-doubt, existential questioning, etc. There comes a point where you have to acknowledge it but figure out a way to channel everything you’d scribble in terribly written prose into something productive. I don’t want to dwell on struggle. I want to live today and love today. Everything is fleeting.

Happy birthday dear Becky.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in honesty, loneliness, poetry

It All

It All  It all hides what I know they know that none of us will say, that connections fade like the end of a song, that no matter how much wine we drink and how many laughs we discover, the ache still penetrates once everyone goes back home.  Some of us pour another glass, write a fucking poem  to keep the room from spinning, some of us sing the same song on repeat until we’ve hit all the stages of grief— pretending we’re not bothered, pretending we’re empowered, falling prey to obsessions that eventually break and that last glass of wine comes back up in perfect cue with the final ringing note and two fingers clutching desperately  to this idea that we can erase our transgressions, and live tomorrow  like we’re not embarrassed, as if we don’t know this is all wrong, and we’re hurting each other, suffering with mouths shut, fucking ourselves wishing the whole time he’d call and that I could be a better friend and drink less.   We never wanted to hurt you.  We never wanted to hurt ourselves. But we did it anyway because we didn’t know what to do when the song ended and the produced track fell silent and all we were left with was an empty bottle and an empty bed and no one to tell us what was right.

I used to write all the time, even when I didn’t have a poem in mind. I was a regular at a couple cafes and coffee shops and would set aside blocks of time to make myself at home in their booths, put my feet up, and figure out something to say that day. I can’t write like that anymore, can’t draw inspiration from nothing, concoct a story or rework a random memory into anything with any meaning. These days I only write when I have no choice, when something is going through my mind that I need to get out, and that itch to write is so consuming that I won’t be able to sleep until it’s out.

Today was about obsession. I listened to the same song on repeat all day long. I’m not kidding. This isn’t an exaggeration. I’m not so secretly crushing on the band’s frontman and I can’t get enough of it. The song, “In the End” by Black Veil Brides, is a metal anthem that begs for attention. There’s a reason the video has 49 MILLION views on YouTube. Today I added a couple more hundred to that count. After a day like that, trapped in the grips of passion, the outpouring of emotion, the crying of an entire generation summed up in about 4 minutes, I needed to write a poem. I NEEDED to write a poem. I needed my voice heard too.

Tonight I feel like I could write forever.

–Leanne Rebecca