Tag: self

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 poetry, writing

Elemental

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Elemental I thought about going to sleep with the eye makeup still on, convinced that choosing to strip off that layer would rob me of self expression, vanquish the artistic beauty screaming from this morning’s play when no one was around as I spent an hour reworking pigments, trying again and again until obsession and satisfaction married and I fell in love with what I’d created. There’s no denial of vanity, living in reflection, caring what the eyes see blinking behind masks, disposable self-mutilation inflicted again and again with intention, to impress, to cry out these feelings inside that need to escape, to beg to be seen in the irony of hiding. It wasn’t just removing eye liner as I forced the cotton ball across my lid. It was wiping away today’s identity, the me I wanted to be, the words I couldn’t say entrenched in how heavily I caked the black: my lashes coated in heart, a persona crafted by my own hand to detract from the one underneath the smudges, the paint washed away by late night confessions, evidence lost in the sink, another day, another girl forgotten.

It’s almost 2 in the morning and my eyes are burning from keeping them open too long. I didn’t sleep much last night either. I have this frustrating urge to keep fighting, to push a little longer. I don’t think I’ve ever posted a poem this late, or early, depending on how you see it, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to get these words out. I needed to try. I just need to keep trying.

Good night now,

–Leanne Rebecca