you are not too much jeanette leblanc

You Are Not Too Much {remix}

To the one who grieves loudly, or for longer than people believe you should, or in ways others find uncomfortable or inconvenient or messy. YOU ARE NOT TOO MUCH. To the one who laughs at top volume and who always wears the clothes that feel the most like you, regardless …

You can wear red lipstick and still be feminist as fuck.

You can wear red lipstick and still be feminist as fuck. You can fall madly in love with your whole entire being, body and soul and still search for magical solutions for your undereye circles or your muffin top or your adult acne. You can be so solidly grounded in …

Believe Her: A poem for survivors (and those who love them)

This is a poem for the women violated, and for those who stand in support and love and solidarity.  For partners, for lovers, for friends.  For all those women harmed, and for all those who held and loved them in the aftermath. Maybe not perfectly, maybe not with unfailing grace, …

remember to breathe

I woke up this morning Slowly Reluctantly And this familiar heaviness settled into my being The weight of all things For which I hold responsibility And even those for which I am not Responsible But insist on claiming as weight As mine to carry Out of some Misplaced sense Of …

feather ( a poem about the ways we make meaning)

Today, when I went to my car To go meet my good friend for coffee And to visit another friend And her baby Who we hadn’t seen in quite a while I looked down to see a feather resting on the handle of the door A little feather Tiny, really. …

{a love that rocked the whole damn world}

Last night The earth started shaking Where she lives Though it was steady here literally If not metaphorically Or steady enough At least That I didn’t feel movement In the ground Beneath my own feet Thought it must have moved I think At least the smallest imperceptible amount. Because if …

the week the unfolding began

This was the week of the whole and the holy. The week of wine in mason jars and the tears that hit so hard I became salt water for a while and as the night grew deeper I pulled a chair into the kitchen to reach high on tip toes …

Honest; a poem by Jeanette LeBlanc

honest

There was wine in a small round mason jar, dark burgundy like old blood and older memories and the lipstick I save for the deepest nights and fullest moons. The name on the bottom of that tube of lipstick tube says Shame. I just call it Honest. There were hours …

the key that unlocks oceans.

{this piece came out, raw and ready. no clean up or cool down. just the words that needed to be born, right then. the kind of freewriting that shoots out, whole and complete. stream of conscious, unconcerned with structure or style. just knowing that the words must be released, exactly …