Tag: years

Posted in art, honesty, poetry, writing

Black Hole

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Black Hole What do you write about when you’re listening to songs about love the week before Valentine’s day, holding on to how breathtaking the sunset was yesterday as the melancholy of another year is settling into the cracks of your skin? You can’t, because you can’t describe the way it feels, that numbness in your chest, that buzzing of nothingness that hums like florescent lights, tinting the surroundings a little sickly, a green and yellow hue that accentuates the purple veins in your skin, the only proof there’s blood still flowing, that you’re not invisible. You listen to the acoustic melodies of someone else’s beating heart and pretend it doesn’t bother you that no one’s ever told you they love you.

I couldn’t sleep last night. My brain raced and raced and finally at 6 am I decided to just get up and shower. Isn’t it strange how sometimes the things we want the most we just can’t have. I just wanted to sleep in on a Saturday, but some force out there in the universe had a different plan.

–Leanne Rebecca

Posted in art, poetry, writing

Grocery Store

Posted on by SHE'S IN PRISON

Grocery Store I lived alone for three months in a new city, didn’t know a soul. Every day I’d walk a mile to the grocery store, spend twenty minutes deciding which vegan cookie to buy and walk back. Sometimes it was Starbucks or the farmer’s market in Studio City. Or drive to Santa Monica to buy my cookie at a bakery and drive back to what I called home. Once it was a restaurant and I walked three miles in the smog to get there. I never cried in those three months. It’s only now, years later, when I go to the grocery store alone that the sadness shows. Maybe it’s the guilt of all those cookies piled up on my thighs, the leftovers of a time not quite forgotten or maybe it’s that I didn’t expect the loneliness to last.