Tag: poem

Posted in love, poetry

Dry

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Dry I was so used to feeling soggy, soaking wet underneath cascades of gray, shoes weighing my feet, filled with the water collected from my head to my toes that I couldn’t fathom another existence. It rained everyday until it didn’t. —Leanne Rebecca

The sun will come out tomorrow, and when it does, I hope it brings a smile to your face.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in love, poetry

Ghost Hunting

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Ghost Hunting He appeared in front of me like an apparition. I blinked for weeks, expecting the lights to stop playing tricks on my eyes, but the evidence of his existence only solidified as this spirit before me exposed its form, no longer desire’s ghost, but a corporeal truth affirmed by touch, my ear to his chest, his beat, by the pain in my cheeks, laughing from joke to joke, and by the promise that we could see the other, that it was real. —Leanne Rebecca

She’s in Prison has been my baby for 2 1/2 years, and possibly the most crucial 2 1/2 years in terms of growing up. I can look back through the archives and relive all the phases of my early 20’s. Now I enter a new phase of discovering who I am while sharing all of me with another person.

If you’ve noticed my absence on here the past couple months it’s because I’ve been doing just that: dedicating every spare moment I have to falling helplessly in love.

I hope you had a great weekend!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in love, poetry

Embrace

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Embrace I feel the ghost of his arms lingering on my shoulders like hints of cologne left trailed on a pillow, literal miles separating our embrace dissolved by a connection that transcends physical sensation, his touch echoing all day long regardless of distance. He holds me even when he doesn't know it, the ghost of his arms warming my core like a coat that keeps the chill away.

It’s been so long since I’ve posted a poem on here that I feel as if I should reintroduce myself. Hi, my name is Leanne. I’ve taken brief hiatuses from She’s in Prison before, usually the result of needing to take time to sort through emotional challenges or press the reset button on life to overcome various struggles. This break, however, was purely the result of being so happy that I didn’t need poetry for a minute.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in love, poetry

Starlight

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Starlight There’s a time of night that slices bravery into pieces, and maybe those are the stars, just broken bits of your soul flickering like beacons calling to your physical body, just pieces of your heart figuring out how to keep shining when the expanse of the universe stands between reuniting you and those lonely bits. And somehow your eyes keep twinkling in those hours right after dusk, when the street lights ease into consciousness, illuminating the shadowed world around, reflected in the damp whites of your eyes, the great big world swallowing your courage to face the dark, to face tomorrow when the stars above seem so far away. I’m standing still, looking up at those pieces of me, the freckles of the sky, and I’m thinking about how random they’re scattered, no sense of alignment, chaotic, like settled confetti, and I’m wondering if I’ll ever find all those pieces, those bits of bravery lost to the clouds. And I keep thinking maybe that’s why I’m terrified to give my heart away, scared what would happen if the stars started to move. I wish I could close my eyes and see a map of where they’re headed, those bits of me wandering the universe, waiting, but nothing’s there behind my lids. —Leanne Rebecca

It’s an Ingrid Michaelson night tonight.

Posted in poetry, what else is new

Between the Drops

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Between the Drops I like what this hoodie stands for, caught in the blur of drizzle, hair frizzing in the mist of bipolar rain. I’d rather stay here, singing in the gray, the tug of war of rainbows and pain, than blind my eyes with unfiltered sun. —Leanne Rebecca

Sometimes I get mad at myself when I write cliche images, like anything inspired by the weather or an errant flower growing from the cracks of a sidewalk. But as “been there done that” as this poem might be, it doesn’t change that the sentiment behind it is 100% true in this moment.

Shout out to Matt and Kim– “Lookin’ like a king with a hoodie on.”

Good night!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in heart, poetry

As Emo as the Moon

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

As Emo as the Moon I thought I’d write about the moon, relate the spectrum of stasis to its phases, as anorexic as its crescent thaw, unhinged in the glow of its full peak. I thought I’d write about him, the waiting game of lust’s impatience, aging though his silent draw, intoxicated in obsession’s keep. But as I sing the moon’s luminosity, its brilliance heating in a fever’s stage, I rethink love’s blind fall, and reclaim this heart, this shadowed heap. The moon will rise tomorrow night and I will scale the expanse of darkened sky, my shoes untied from desire’s draw, free, swept through stars by poetry. —Leanne Rebecca

Today someone said to me that the light in my eyes has returned. It struck me (in a good way) to hear that. I know the moment that it came back. It was the moment I decided to stop dating.

For three years I’ve bounced from date to date from guy to guy, crashing and burning over and over and over again, convinced in the end that I was incapable of sustaining a romantic relationship, that I was somehow less than, unworthy. The more I dated the more I lost myself.

About a month ago I called it quits, not from exasperation, but from a deep desire to explore my own heart, discover what I love and feed my passions with as much attention as they deserve. For the first time in three years all the pressure is gone and I’m rediscovering the girl I once was, a girl unafraid to sing her spirit, that dances in the car like no one is watching.

I never thought I’d say that the best decision I ever made for myself was to stop dating, after all, we all want to find true love and everyone says the only way to find it is to put yourself out there. But if there’s one lesson I can take away from this last month of soul searching it’s that there’s no hurry.

Take care of yourselves my loves!

–Leanne

Posted in heart, poetry, trust

Get There

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Get There I held on to where I was going like a baby clutching a necklace, grasping at what dangled in my face, fixated, as if my peripheral vision fogged. I only saw that one thing I wanted, that one person, that one boy, and no matter how much people yelled to let go, my heart clung, comforted by an autopilot grip. I didn’t understand why anyone would peel my fingers away from that one thing I wanted, until it was gone, my empty hands opened, understanding at last the only way to get there, was to walk away from it all. —Leanne Rebecca

It’s been a hot minute since I wrote a poem. Lots of life has happened in the past couple weeks and I’ve barely been able to catch my breath. I’ve had to let many ideas die in the wind, barely able to find the time to eat dinner, let alone write anything. I wish time could pause sometimes.

Side note: everything right now is inspired by Paramore.

Good night!

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in eyes, poetry

Eye Exam

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Eye Exam I can’t write this poem, this convoluted examination of what’s beyond the skies of my eyes and how once a year my ophthalmologist dilates the irises and looks inside at the expanse of everything hidden in their mystery. I can imagine what she sees, the complexity, the rivers and valleys of me converged in a universe of inescapable honesty, can’t hide a thing with that bright light probing my secrets, tracing the timeline of tears bled in the year since my last exam. —Leanne Rebecca

A lot can happen in a year and no matter how much we try to hide, the crux of it all lives in our eyes, the maps of our story glistening despite the cover of night, a single cast of starlight uncovering the truth.

Much Love,

Leanne

Posted in childhood, poetry

The End of Summer

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

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.

Posted in loneliness, poetry, truth

Wake Me Up

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Wake Me Up The crumbs of yesterday aren’t moving, irritating this space with hyper-stillness: the trash on the kitchen table, yoga mat rolled out on the floor, electric guitar left plugged in, the empty beer bottle and the peanut butter jar on the counter. The ghosts of the girl I was yesterday haunt the room with whispers of what I couldn’t find today: an identity. —Leanne Rebecca

This is the type of poetry I write when I’m listening to Wake Me Up When September Ends on repeat. I spent all night learning it on the guitar and the melancholy of it has infiltrated my entire body. A weird place to be right now.

Good night.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in heart, poetry

A Letter to My Daughter

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

A Letter to My Daughter One day you will look in the mirror and see only flaws, black smudged underneath your eyes, wisps of frizz curling around your ears, a voice too soft, unheard, a spirit too broken to scream and you will doubt your worth. It is in that moment dear child that you will crave hands to wrap your shoulders in assurance, binding fear with everlasting embrace. It is in that moment that tears will break, that an urge to smash that mirror will radiate from limb to limb and the last pearls of innocence will sever from your soul. Your sobs will soften, blinking devastation into stillness, and you will rise, turn back towards that glass and see yourself, not the flaws smudged across freckled cheeks, but the blush of a heartbeat allowing the ribs to feel, to heal, to ache with the strength of facing tomorrow. I’ll be there for you, dear child, but you’ll be there for yourself too. —Leanne Rebecca

Posted in dreams, poetry

The Drive Home

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

The Drive Home Windows down in the summertime and my hair is raping my face, stuck to my tinted Chapstick, catching streaks of light as it rages in freedom’s right. Old school Greenday comes on the radio. I listen to the guitar chords, the strumming, ascertaining whether or not I can play it. Am I good enough? I think about how the volume is so loud I’d never be able to hold a conversation in the car, realize maybe I don’t want to, that I like this, just me, my blushed cheeks and dreams of becoming a rock star. —Leanne Rebecca

Soak up the sunshine. My only advice for the moment.

Love,

Leanne

Posted in poetry

Introspection

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Introspection When nighttime cries behind your eyes and shadows chase the moon across the hollow sky, I find a tree and walk a limb and listen to the fear inside, tomorrow’s death and yesterday’s hush, the dust of the past the blush of desire, close my hand around this heart on fire, the pulsating rush of creative expression, and let the rise of passion consume my soul in sanity’s demise, an obsession of unpredictable intention begging the question do I trust myself enough to fly? —Leanne Rebecca

Do you trust yourself?