Tag: mistakes

Posted in Music, poetry

The Biggest Disappointment

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

The Biggest Disappointment He never knew the real me— the first year too nervous to say the wrong thing, the second pretending to be something else so he would see me as whatever it was he wanted that wasn’t me, trapped in someone else’s poetry, obsessed with this image, starving my integrity, my body, to play a game he didn’t want to play until I pushed and pulled so hard that I lost the one person that understood that words are not just words, ever, lost, before he even heard me.

We all make mistakes. Some carry a little more weight than others and the consequences rain harder. There’s no trick to overcoming mistakes, except maybe to let go of regret.

I went to a Matt and Kim concert last night. They have this one song called “Now” that sums it up perfectly:

I know that things aren’t perfect
But lets make tonight worth it
Stand up right here take a bow
And we will all ride this thing down
Now

All we can do is move forward and accept our imperfections, accept our mistakes, and try with all our might to not make the same ones again. No guarantees though, and that’s ok. For now, make the most of today.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in honesty, poetry

Glory One Day

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Glory One Day The oppression formed a mushroom cloud around my entire body, trapping years of everything I couldn’t say in smog laden prison. I suffocated from the inside out, suppressed by the need to control every breath, every swallow, obsessing like a hypochondriac, everything was wrong and nothing. I needed your permission to open my soul to the world outside of me, to not feel consumed by the ashes of regrets and stop fighting just stop and find the glory of staring mistakes in the eye, owning their weight with faith that one day I’ll learn to let them fade, lifted by release.

This weekend I saw Paramore, one of my favorite bands, play at the Beale Street Music Festival in Memphis. I was moved to literal tears by the set and turned to my friend and said, “it’s crazy how much I relate to their music.” My friend looked me in the eye and said, “Leanne, it’s not crazy because we all feel that way.”

We all go through struggles, many of them more similar to the stranger sitting next to you than you might realize. We all go through cycles of making mistakes, growing, learning, and discovering glory on the other side of the darkness we never thought we’d find our way out of. Stay strong my friends and don’t be so hard on yourselves.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry

Warning

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Warning There’s an explosive in my vagina at the ready to detonate, controlling the words I say, the who’s I manipulate, the culprit of the mistakes I didn’t mean to make. There’s an explosive in my vagina, implanted and yelling like a second brain, demanding and taunting, ravaging self-restraint until the regrets pile up like beer bottles at a party.

Back in college, in the one and only poetry class I ever took, my teacher looked us all in the eye and said, “If you’ve never written a poem about sex, you should.” I questioned whether or not it was a good idea to post this poem on here, but for the sake of being real, I decided to go for it. I wrote this in the afternoon while having a casual conversation with my roommate about going to the gynecologist.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Solace

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Solace There’s a divide in the memories, skating the line of nostalgia and regret, submerged both in deep admiration for the moments worth holding and drowning at the same time, gasping for resolution, for forgiveness, finding solace only in knowing that tomorrow’s memories are whole, yet to be broken by mistakes or the complexities of emotion.

Today is a brand new day, a day to let go, a day to take hold, a day to live in the moment. We are all shaped by our histories. They are written in the scars in our skin and the rhythms of our hearts, but those marks of yesterdays do not dictate who we will be today. Let what once was live in memory. Laugh at the good ones and learn from the bad ones. Remember, you are always moving forward.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

About This I Am Right

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

About This I am Right I knead my thumb into my palm, pausing at each callus, the evidence of effort, the roughness of imperfections, of making a fool of myself in trying. My hands aren’t soft, they bleed in the cold air, they sting against my tears, they tire, they fail and the holding on hurts more. My hands aren’t soft, and the calluses scrape, but if you let me let go, I promise you’re making a mistake. Of this I am right.

There are some poems that hurt to write. I read through them and exhale. This one hurt, but I remember they’re just words and I’m stronger than their verse.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in poem, poetry, writing

Jawbreaker

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Jawbreaker I caught my mistakes in my throat, choked on the acidity of sour reality staining my tongue. My lips tinged purple as if I’d eaten a grape Popsicle the blue of not breathing, suffocating as time and energy blocked my airway as if a Jawbreaker had lodged there and I couldn’t cough it up. My neck cramped and I waited for the sugar to dissolve, the lump to melt as I tasted all the flavors of my choices. I swallow now with freedom as intoxicating as spring air, but the scar’s still there, a scratch caught in my throat, the mistakes etched in the memory of my breath.

I sat here in front of my computer for a solid ten minutes, staring at the screen, trying to think of something to write here. Maybe it’s more profound that I couldn’t think of a single thing.

Have a splendid Wednesday!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Break Away

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Break Away I don’t feel like crafting poetry, meticulously measuring every word to fit in some designed form, throwing away perfectly good ones because they aren’t rhythmic or specific or innovative enough. Poetry is too complicated, simultaneously too efficient, leaving out half the story, forgetting that the clutter between the words is part of the song too, the stumbles and mistakes, the version before the rewrite, the decisions regretted just as worthy. I have too much to say to limit the emotion to single images. I’m overwhelmed and I don’t know where to start, so I’ll write it all, all the dismay of this one day shared in unabridged confession:

My biggest challenge in my writing is clutter. I use too many words and too many fillers, or at least I used to. I’ve worked on refining my verse quite a bit, but it’s exhausting! Hell, sometimes I want to overuse adverbs and let my rant run free, no matter how inarticulate the finished product.

Lately I’ve been writing in stream of consciousness form. I don’t judge. I don’t edit. I don’t stop. I just write. This piece was the first. I didn’t change a word.

Happy Saturday!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Sensitivity

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Sensitivity The skin on my fingers is peeling, stressed by the newness of strings beneath. I misstep, stumbling in misjudgment, too far, a sour sound. The distraction cracks the exercise of muscle memory, fumbling through overthinking I know I said all the wrong things, deafened in the aftermath of mistakes, a ringing of dull notes and your silence. The calluses flake off my fingertips, daring raw flesh to try again. But it hurts.

My inner poet disappeared for a few days. She hasn’t been that quiet for that long in quite some time. She’d like to say hello again and thanks you for listening.

Have a great weekend my friends!

–Leanne Rebecca