Posted in art, creative writing, poem, poetry, writing

Steeped Too Long

Steeped Too Long	  I let him bathe in my brain until his tea leaves turned bitter, an after taste like ash wrinkling my face into a raisin. The boy that had infused my blood with caffeine, awakening desire in flavors erected through heat now revolted my palate, a reversal of obsession ended in one final sip. I don’t want this anymore.

Have a great weekend, friends. Listen to your hearts and when all else fails, write about it.

–Leanne Rebecca


Posted in art, poetry, writing


Pause  I expected I’d hear silence, as if the meditation of a moment would quiet  the Muzak of being people.  I listened to the space between breaths and heard the clutter of coffee shop conversation, the footsteps of that boy in the backwards cap when he walked by, the scooting of a chair.  I heard my thoughts, a raucous of angst amassed in pictures and imagined flashbacks, a confused slide show of my participation in this room dotted with strangers. I listened for a second and heard the screams of my closed mouth.  I don’t often distinguish between my poems that are based on real experience or straight up fiction. However, I feel compelled to admit that this one is utterly non-fiction. I treated myself to a tea at this great coffee shop that’s quickly becoming my go-to place for a cup-o-joe, and the next thing I knew I’d written this poem.

Cheers to Picasso’s in good ol’ St. Charles and cheers to Wednesdays.

–Leanne Rebecca