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

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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

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, 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!

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.