Posted in art, poetry, writing

Flutter

Flutter  She’d grown addicted to disintegrating, disappearing in bits like a withering sand castle, eroding away until someone would come along and pack her back together, subsisting in transience, never at peace with integrity, a master at sabotaging her own strength, artful almost, fluttering into pieces  with the grace of fluidity, falling again and again in perfect rhythm.

It feels like it’s been awhile since I’ve been on here. Every time I’ve tried to write a poem in the last several days I end up cranking out about 2 lines and then “finishing” the poem with several words of profanity before closing my notebook and filling up a glass of wine. There isn’t more to the story. Writing is rarely glamorous.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

About This I Am Right

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 art, poetry, writing

Sensitivity

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

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Too Much

Too Much  They call it Pain Tolerance, measured in a threshold determined by the wearer, a number of fingers you can withstand before two hands shortfall the scale,  a 10 spectrum limit that fails to consider all the categories of this feeling’s complexity.  Am I at a 9 because I’m still breathing?  There’s a numbness beyond comprehension that confuses the brink of my endurance, as if the ache resides in negative space. an inverted sensation, the vast white surrounding the ink blotches  that could explain this intoxication. I changed the last word of this poem at least 6 times, and with each revision, I found new meaning inside my own lines. I implore you to take away your own interpretation. Sure, I wrote the poem, but the meaning is not absolute. What it means to you is just as significant as the reason I wrote it. I write poetry for me, but you read it for you. We’re equals in this process.

Happy Monday!!

–Leanne Rebecca

 

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Extract

Extract  I throw my lunch away, too disgusted to chew.  The sickness hollows deep, painful, as if hairline fractures snake through the ribs, a searing that travels the blood and hibernates in the stomach. It’s crippling, this emotion manifesting in physical illness. I swallow, unsure if the few bites choked down will stay, insides ravaged by love so raw that it’s extract could be harvested and bottled, baked into poisonous desserts and gluttonized by the daring.

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

Exiled

Exiled  He walked next to me, a foot between our bodies, a distance that only grew to divert obstacles in the middle of the sidewalk— trees, trash cans, mail receptacles.  He’d point out a café he liked over there and I’d say I’d never been,  a suggestion.  We chatted about work and food addictions, ebbing in and out of the serious stuff, family and insecurities, teetering the line of divulging too much, choosing to trust in the other, mostly.  And then he hugged me and he left, the sight of his back stabbing me, exiling me into invisibility, just a glare from the setting sun, dissolved into nighttime.

This one’s inspired by “Invisible” by Hunter Hayes.

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

Two

Two

It’s Twenty One Pilots’ Saturday on She’s in Prison and I’m officially running out of TOP songs to steal the titles from (gasp!). This one’s about options, aptly titled after the song “Two.” We’re all faced with options, some tough, some not. The dilemma isn’t the option but rather the choice that goes with it. Sometimes choosing seems impossible.

Have a great Saturday!

http://youtu.be/SQTSKC7jPH0

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

Glowing Eyes

Glowing Eyes

Let’s just ignore the fact that I made myself look like one of those dead girls in scary movies in the pic above…

This poem is inspired by the title of the Twenty One Pilots song “Glowing Eyes” from their Regional at Best album. Check out their version below 🙂

http://youtu.be/47AtclpkF-o

 

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Elude

EludeSpecial thanks to Lena Morsch for the title inspiration.

 

Posted in poetry, writing

Pure Love

Pure Love

Day 4 of Heart Week is celebrating my mom, who buries her pain every day as the founding president of the Children’s Heart Foundation Missouri Chapter. Even though she went through the tragedy of losing her daughter, she found the strength and willpower to not only keep living but to give unconditionally to those around her. My family is walking this Sunday in the St. Louis Congenital Heart Walk not only in remembrance of my sister who died from a CHD, but in support of my mother, the most selfless person I know. Join us in honoring all those born with CHDs and their families by finding a walk in your area and/or donating to CHD research.

Go HERE for more information.

Posted in Josh Dun Poetry Corner, Music, poetry, twenty one pilots

Inspiration

Inspiration