Tag: sadness

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, poetry, writing

Let Go

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Let Go I want him to squeeze me to the brim of can’t breathe, trapped beneath his muscles, saddled to his chest, counting his heartbeats. I remember how we fit, connected in embrace, synced in sentiment. Hold me and never let me go. I ache for the sensation, a single hug, a hunger settled in my tissues, a dull throb, a fever, a headache emanating from my neck and melting through the entirety of my body. He sits in my memory with a smirk, a smugness of dominance, distracting, waiting, not calling, holding me, his arms existentially holding me. Let go.

Almond butter creme filled dark chocolate #vegan #notsharing

That was my Monday. Bring it, Tuesday.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Tragedy

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Tragedy Morning traffic dictated a lethargic pace. I tailgated the car in front of me as if burning grill marks on his bumper would increase the speed of moving, could decrease my anxiety— would I make it to work on time? I veered onto the exit ramp at the first opportunity, crossing a bit of the solid white, zipping around the line stopped on the highway, the other 9-5ers blinking at their windshields, sleepwalkers guzzling coffee and eating granola bars. The ramp was clear, a straight shot of open road to fly without impasse in the freedom of ignoring speed suggestions. I noticed something to my right before I hit the intersection: a dead deer, frozen and whole like a stuffed replica. I looked away to my left. Three black trash bags lined the shoulder.Sometimes routine can blind us from what’s happening around us, good or bad. Don’t forget to open your eyes. Write a poem about it if you can.

Happy Thursday!

–Leanne Rebecca

 

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Under the Radar

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Under the Radar I felt the warning signs welling up like the early symptoms of a head cold— easily ignored. I swallowed the thoughts with each sip of vodka soda which dwindled as the toasts wrapped. To the Bride and Groom. They cut the cake and had a dance and everyone smiled and some cried as I kept quiet, afraid to speak and erupt with cynicism on this happy occasion, finding respite in the bathroom stall until sickness poured from my eyes, my sickness—my eternal loneliness soiling the love infested air of a wedding celebration. I ducked outside so no one would see the despair blur my eyeliner like a watercolor painting. I watched the guests raise glasses through the window, kicking off their shoes, shamelessly indulging in the contagion of glee, the pairs of them, hand in hand with their own brides and grooms of yesterdays and tomorrows while I wept in the darkness of a night’s sky. They hadn’t seen me leave, who would? I wasn’t tied to that innate buddy system of plus ones, relegated unintentionally invisible, forgotten amidst kisses and slow dances, biding my time until the glowing couple skipped into their getaway car and I shuffled back to mine, tired. Thanks for sticking with me. Life’s a journey and sometimes it gets busy, which is why I feel utterly lucky to have this magical thing called writing that lets me dance my way through it without rules. Have a fantastic Monday!

–Leanne Rebecca

 

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Extract

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

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, poetry, writing

Helpless

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Helpless

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Resilience

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Resilience

This poem is dedicated to my mom, Lori Ortbals. The title was her idea.

Thanks for stopping by and have a great Tuesday! Hit me up on Twitter or say hello in the comments below. 🙂

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

Glowing Eyes

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

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

Hidden

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Hidden

Today’s one of those anniversaries I’d rather not celebrate. It’s a day that commemorates the moment my life changed 13 years ago, a day I lost a little bit of my childhood innocence, forced to grow up in the car ride to the hospital. I try not to pout or draw attention to my situation on the regular because self-pity is as unattractive a vice as any, but if there’s one day I’ll let the tears fall, it’s today, D-Day, March 26th, the day I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

If you see a T1D today, give them a hug for me. Let them know you care. This disease is more grueling than you can imagine, more relentless than meets the eye, and more life-threatening than we dare to admit. Though we may not let our vulnerability show, I promise, your love and support means the world.

Posted in art, poetry, twenty one pilots, writing

Kitchen Sink

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Kitchen SinkIn the moment emotions can cripple, shooting searing pain throughout the entire body, but no matter how hopeless that instant in time feels, distance not only helps ease the pain, but offers understanding and perspective. I implore you to never give up.

I also implore you check out the Twenty One Pilots version of Kitchen Sink. I admit I’ve listened to this song too many times to count. Don’t be ashamed to hit repeat.

Thank you for taking a moment out of your Saturday to stop by and read a little poetry. I appreciate the support and I’d love to hear from you in the comments below or on Twitter. Come back next week for more TOP inspired poetry!

http://youtu.be/OIvLbhlNuHY

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Moving On

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Moving On

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Popcorn

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

popcorn