Tag: self-worth

Posted in art, image, poetry, writing

Naked

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Naked I stumble to the full length mirror on the closet, squinting through the sleep still in my eyes not yet adjusted to the artificial light, abrasive and unforgiving. I lift my shirt to assess yesterday’s damages, exposing the angles of manipulation to the judgment looking back, sucking it in from all sides, strategizing an outfit to minimize the lumps, a necklace to draw the eyes up, applying concealer to the body like I would a blemish, bathed in the makeup of a wardrobe.

I’d be hypocritical if I told you not to look critically at yourself. After all, I write poems that explore the complexities of who I am–the good, the bad, the perplexing, the mundane, and the ridiculous. I write to understand why sometimes I struggle with certain emotions and other times I can brush them off. I write to know more about myself, looking critically at the dark corners of my brain. I dive deep, drawing out secrets that hurt or burdens that tug down at my shoulders. I find this kind of analysis scary, but cathartic.

I know who I am and refuse to change. I’m stubborn like that.

All this being said, I also caution this critique of yourself, especially when it crosses into physical appearance. It’s always good to strive for something. It is never good to torture yourself in the process. I promise, you’re more beautiful than you know.

Tell me which aspects of yourself that you are head over heels in love with. I absolutely adore my sarcasm. I smile at my gift for all things random. I love that I can totally rock bedhead.

–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, creative writing, poetry, writing

Sprint

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Sprint They gave me a clipboard and a shot of authority, power chased with adrenaline, to prove to ride. People asked me questions, these followers that consumed my words like salty snacks. Handshakes locked congratulations into the day that disappeared, the nibbles of a midmorning munched into crumbs of memories by the afternoon, a déjà vu of fleeting confidence. Maybe someone will remember my face despite the finish line.

This wasn’t the poem I set out to write last night, but it didn’t matter. It’s always ok to let flow take liberties and even though my intention wasn’t quite satisfied, I accepted that my initial concept was a title for another day.

Break your own rules. Happy Monday. 

–Leanne Rebecca