Tag: relationships

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Holding On

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Holding On He didn’t remember gasping at 4am, suffocating on his own spit, drowning from the inside out, tinged the same gray-blue as his eyes squinting through water at the hospice nurse as she suctioned his airway. He woke the next day to a ring of his children around his bed, aged faces laced in silence, not knowing what to say to a man that watched his wife die two weeks earlier, a spectator from three feet away. Dad, it’s ok, they spoke up, words disappearing like wind, an obligatory breeze disregarding how close he’d come to letting go. He didn’t know why they’d come or why they were blinking tears, but they were sorry his throat hurt.

I’ve been MIA. I know it. You know it too and I owe you an explanation:

I’m currently editing a poetry book that has been a couple years in the making. It’s nearing the stage of “completion,” which I put in quotations because I’m not sure I will ever be able to say I’m 100% satisfied with my writing. Poetry is a process that takes time and evolves as we grow and change. Anyway, I’m throwing myself into the collection and sadly as a result, I’ve held my breath on here.

I’m sorry!

Posts might be sparse in the upcoming weeks as I work through the editing process and enter into the nightmare that is the publishing world. I promise I will never forget you and even in the silence, I hear you.

Thank you for your patience.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry

Back

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Back I whispered it when you turned your back, back to the party. I watched you throw back that shot and clench your teeth, head spinning, backwards stepping into the coffee table. I lean back into the wall, arms hugged to my solitude, holding what you didn’t hear against my stomach. You’re across the room now, back with the ones I’ll never be. Her smile. It’s too late to go back in time, for you to hear what I said, the words dispersed into fog, droplets of sentiment clouded by reticence, the rain that wouldn’t drop, stubborn background mist to wade between. I promise I said it. I’m sorry. Please come back to me.

Well, I’m back. For the first time since starting She’s in Prison I feel the need to say I’m sorry to all of you. I appreciate your support and I fear I let you down with my disappearance.

Life’s been a struggle. I recently started a new job and have been transitioning into that role. Also my grandma died a little over a week ago.

I’ve felt overwhelmed and honestly, I haven’t felt like writing. I’ve stared at the same blank page for two weeks. I couldn’t move my hand. Just stared.

But here I am. I’m trying and I thank you for listening.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

Speechless

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Speechless My wit atrophies into a freshly erased chalkboard, smeared with dust, remnants of brain activity dragged into a blur. I listen to what you say but cannot speak in return. I taste the chalk of words caked in my closed mouth, too dry to write them with sound. By the time I find a pen to transcribe my silence, you’ve left. I hit repeat on the same song 9 times while working on this post last night. Every play hit me harder than the last, a compounding obsession culminated in the fact that I’m talking about it right now. Maybe it means something and maybe it doesn’t. All I know is that today is Friday.

Sometimes I talk about the days of the week because I don’t know what else to say but most of the time I talk about the days of the week because their existence seems just as important as anything else. Wow, it’s Friday. Find a song you love and listen to it 9 times in a row.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

From Generation

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

From Generation What would his mother say, him leaving the table without excusing himself as if we didn’t exist, as if we hadn’t driven here together as if he’d rather be watching TV than exchanging words with people he once said he loves? His back staggered our conversation like a child screaming in obstinance to social responsibility, deafening fits interrupting the ease of good company like spilled coffee on white pants, regretable combinations. She wouldn’t say a thing.Sunday morning coffee is one of my favorite things. It’s the poetry of a survived Saturday night. It’s the pause of appreciation for the privilege of indulgence. Most of all, it’s just delicious. I hope you were enjoying a cup of coffee while reading this. After all, poetry and coffee are bred to coexist. Cheers to the week ahead!

–Leanne Rebecca

 

Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

Party Trick

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Party Trick It was the way he played the guitar, his eyes closing, savoring the notes like peanut butter cups, pleasure singing in his fingertips licked to perfection in the bliss of the moment. I noticed how she’d stare, as intoxicated with his passion as he was with that instrument, a recognizable love that softened both their faces, she watching his pleasure in equal measure. She appreciated his elemental connection, accepted his attention diverted to his potential, chasing what could be, the greater than, the something more that guided his dedication. He loved that guitar, an infatuation that trumped her presence, his undeniable glory that blinded her from accepting that maybe she deserved someone who’d let her sing along. I’ve been thinking about love lately–if you couldn’t tell from most of the poems decorating the past several months on here–and in thinking about love I’ve been thinking about the “one.” Who is that person that we fall for and why? Why do we rarely end up with the person we grew up describing as our ideal partner? Why does unrequited love exist? You’d think if you feel that strong of a pull towards someone that they’d feel it back. It’s chemistry, right? Pure biology. But for whatever reason, it doesn’t always work that way, but maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason.

This poem goes out to my friend Cameron.

Have a great weekend!

–Leanne Rebecca