The “Hard” Collection (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Jul 28 2009

Hardest session (with reflection):

It’s hard to stop
seeing
a shattered person
it’s hard
to know
how to feel

I spent too long believing

everything came
too soon
or too late

I’m angry half the time I pray

these are deeper cuts
then I ever knew
and there’s no one to bear witness
as it all bleeds through

what was lost
wasn’t even real

the bitterness of disappointment
makes me purge
myself
of the like

only to realize
I am made of much less
than I imagined

but that does little
to surprise me now.

Hardest lesson:

Everything
is too much to entrust
(but it took being crushed)

I held on,
being pushed away
I was shut out,
and I just prayed
I was put down,
but just loved too much

I gave all there was
I gave myself up

And the shock
depleted my reserves,
tainted every place you were

I’d convinced myself if I gave it all,
I’d get everything in return
and so came the hardest lesson
I ever had to learn

Broke so much I got set free:

I cried
I prayed
I tried
I stayed

I’m done.

Words are never enough:

You say you love
But words are never enough
Especially after hurting so much

You say you feel
But you have yet to prove it
Hurry up
You’re going to lose it

I can only want for so long
And I’ve been wanting so long

I can’t function like this
I think, deep down,
You like you can wreck me

Whatever

Break my heart
Over and over
Break my spirit
Chip my shoulder

You don’t want me to hate you
But it’s getting to where
I wish we never met
I wish I couldn’t care

The part of the vows no one wants to talk about:

I can’t get your hands
To make me feel loved

We all know love’s not enough
But does it take so much
Of other things
To justify
these rings?

Why does it still hurt?

I’m so sick
of the play by play
who hurt who how
point is:
it got this way.

I don’t have much else to say
that you can understand
just grasping for
truth you can stomach

And how did this
go so wrong?
We can fight about it
all night long
till
you get mad
I cry
is this the homestretch
or the long goodbye?

When does it all fall back together?
When does “it’s over” sound worse than forever?

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Dirt Under Your Nails (wolves, winds, wars) by Rebecca Chasteen Wednesday, Dec 3 2008

It’s the quiet ones to watch out for
no one fights the demons disguised so simply.
this is how wars are lost.

watching my convictions move on without me,
I can never decide what’s more deceiving-
the lows or the highs.

I’ve waded too far in dark waters

I just don’t know if I can be how I was with you,
and I don’t know if you really want me to

faith is not that clean

just so you know, I’m willing to let it all go
And make my way: gypsy faith

propel me through the uncharted waters,
through the depths of my uncertainties.
send peace through my veins
expel the fog, the fears- so I am breathing again,
so I am a version more capable

if I could just trust, and find that enough,
I know I would feel my worries raise up.

my petition approved,
I am somehow here again

But what importance is my light without my darkness, right?

I know I have fought this before: the same wolf in a different sheep’s suit
so in the morning, instead of giving in,
I will aggressively argue against this.

there will be no exorcisms tonight
because I decided that I decide
so I’m winged tonight, I won’t be ashes and I won’t fight.
how long it takes to just put your foot down.
and one night is a notch in my belt, you know?

sometimes it takes giving up

the littlest things can save us

pinprick of light flickers
I stop fighting the undertow and just float

most importantly, I’ve come to see what this is to me
and that’s why I’m here

these heavy heavy winds I had to be in

it seems like it comes to this:
belief is all or nothing
an insistent still, an act of will, or resignation

being strong enough to give it up,
being certain of hope, sure of love.

in the face of fear and hesitation
in the unknown and uncontrolled
it is letting go
it is holding on

faith is believing through the doubt
but it’s no short cut, it’s no out

believing seems so masochistic (but it turns out I choose it)

there’s no quitting, no walking away,
just hope and stay

This is another one of those remixes, including pieces of 10 poems along with other random lines or ones I just added in while working on this. Faith is something I’ve always wrote a lot about, it’s an inevitable topic.

I think the dirtier we get believing, the more we know about what we believe. I think laying down belief for a little bit due to anger, disappointment, doubt, etc, allows us to see ourselves and our world without it and allows us to decide if we want it back and what amendments we want or have to make to it. I think it takes seeing what our faith is not to know what it is. I think that all of these things make our faith not only more authentic for us, but to others as well.

The following is probably what I could have put with last week’s poem, but didn’t. It’s partially from my wordpress blog, and I used part of it as a response to a friend’s blog. I think it goes well with this.

I don’t understand the things laid on people’s lives, but I do know that life turns out to be hard for everyone, one way or another. I think the only way to find beauty, faith, hope, love, joy, or good in tragedy, violence, hurt, disappointment, abuse, hate, or ugliness is to let go of preconceived notions of what our lives should be like. We can see the beauty of our life when we are open to the different permutations of beauty and accept our lives as they are, instead of focusing on what we wish they were or thought they were or were told they would be. I believe that though we may think there are specific things we would change about our life, we can never know if those changes would really make things better. So while we seek what we want in our lives, we have to allow for everything else that happens along the way. Acceptance is not saying “it’s” okay, so much as it’s saying “I’m” okay. This has happened and I’m okay, I’m dealing, I’m working with it or through it, I’m moving forward, etc. And often, when “I’m” okay, it turns out that “it’s” okay too.

One of the hardest things about faith is accepting that there is some thing that we don’t understand, that doesn’t make sense to us, that we can’t figure out. We want reason, we want things to make sense, because we want to figure out how to control and prevent things. But I don’t think we need reason to deal with life, we just need acceptance, acknowledgment, some kind of belief- in something.

I believe prayer is communion and communication with God, a place for honesty and sincerity, a place to be candid, a place to be open and quiet, a place to seek and to be willing to be moved, a place to lift energies, to receive energies. “And pray in the Spirit on all occasions, with all kinds of prayers and requests.” Ephesians 6:18a. I believe that prayer is a way to transform our internal selves more than it is a way to change external circumstances (though by transforming us internally, we may in turn transform our circumstances).

A friend of mine wrote in a blog: “Sometimes, pain is so deep that even the promise of heaven isn’t enough.” and I find this so true. There is a depth of pain in which heaven, faith, and God no longer seem relevant to us, not in the way we knew of before. But I think, when in that depth, if in some parts of our heart we are still hoping for some kind of salvation, still wanting more, (which I believe that everyone still living is doing in some way) then we can discover a whole other idea of these things.

I believe we can choose what to do with the shatter that comes into our lives. And that sometimes (or maybe all the time) it takes something falling apart for us to really dig in and develop some depth to faith and belief. I believe that belief is a choice to constantly make, I believe that the act of belief is a defiance of fear, circumstance, hate, and ugliness.

I believe we are part of something so much bigger than us that we only get glimpses at the way it all fits, what it creates in the big picture. Like a stained glass mural or patchwork quilt; all the pieces needing the others to make the masterpiece.

I think we get chances all the time to choose belief, or choose anything else in it’s place. And I think we have to be careful of what we choose, because there’s only so much room in us. I think that it’s something to constantly reconsider, redefine, and reshape as our lives and hearts and minds move through this life.

I believe not blindly and not because my world hasn’t shattered, but because it has, several times and I have laid down belief and I know who I am without belief and I don’t like that person. I believe because I have to if I’m going to get up in the morning, because I need to, because I want to. I believe knowing all the bad things that do happen, have happened, can happen, will happen.

I believe because I’m a fighter: “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Ephesians 6:12 and I’ll fight off darkness with belief because I don’t have room for both in me. And while I know I have to enter the dark at times, I will fight to keep it from entering me. And I don’t always succeed at that, but I will keep defying it.

I have seen that there are tunnels and there is light. I believe not because I always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but because I know there is a light. I believe knowing that there is light before and after the tunnel; and there is a tunnel before and after the light. I believe that with each light, I can take for myself a portion to carry through the next tunnel, and I can do this until the tunnel has no more room for darkness, and I am with the light all the time. But I have to keep moving and I have to keep pushing the darkness out with the light; within me, around me, before me.

There is a beautiful release in belief and I think we talk about that a lot, but we don’t always talk about the battle. And it is both. Freedom comes at a price. It always has.

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Home Safe (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 3 2008

I hear nothing but myself, the rocks beneath my feet.

Placid sunset marks the end to everything
before and makes foreplay to everything between these days.

Kool-Aid colored clouds. The shadows of the barren trees, branches swaying in a southern breeze, wildflowers splattered on mossy mounds. From the hill you hear the sounds
highway pulsing still doesn’t drown out leaves rustling, or a gossiping creek- the one you can jump with a sled ’cause the hill’s that steep.

I just stopped with the wind in my hair and watched the sun make
shadows as leaves danced in the air. I’m aware that this is rare.

What can I say about this place? It held, for some time, in some ways –
everything; a homestead, and a playground. The final farm bred generation of this
one store town. And yes, some small entitlements for the seeds that were
sowed: our church, our town, our road.

Histories crumble, vine covered, or burn to the ground, but we’re still
around, breathing and forgetting or forgiving or forging forward.

The grain ripples, ever golden. Sometimes, cotton ball clouds drift across the
Carolina sky but even in the valley you hear civilization’s cries and when
bark colored clouds hinder the sun, I wonder if mother nature has realized what
has become of what once was and is now
on the verge of being lost in all
that’s to be.

All I see is all I know, fields and forests overflow. I am part of everything
here. And I’m scared one day, it’ll disappear and everything so close
to me will just become a memory.

And I understand you really can’t own land, but I’ve got it all over
my hands, along with my forefathers blood and sweat and…

this is where I am

I lay across the grass and feel it brush against my cheek, the breeze vibrates
petals and it’s almost like they speak and they leave
dew on my eyes, I don’t wipe it dry.

Barefoot in the grass, avoiding the broken glass of the abandoned house, once theirs.
At that time, the house still stands, occupied by memories, and in front – those three
huge trees. Creaking porch swing, Kitchen still avocado green.

I could never think of kudzu, Queen Anne’s lace, or buttercups, without thinking of
that place and sun warmed blackberries on that little path, dogwood
“clubhouses” (just that word makes me laugh) honeysuckle, across from the barn, rickety steps and goats that aren’t scared
of cars.

Drops
in the wellspring where I hold this place, safe
from “for sale” signs, intrinsically
safe.

I took some poems I wrote in the past as a starting point and catalyst for this, pieces of them are scattered through out.

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The Revamp (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 3 2008

So all the world’s a stage,
what happens to the play when no one’s watching?
what happens to the player’s face?

beautiful child,
who fed you so much apprehension?
you walked easy, confident
the collective mind
rolled from your certainty
never tainted you this way before

I don’t know why you hide behind
things dark and sad inside your mind
when you’ve witnessed beauty so many times

You are not responsible for anyone else’s happiness
and don’t expect to find yourself
in someone else
don’t think anyone’s going to save you
it’s no one else’s job to do

it’s so hard to hear yourself
when you spend so much time listening to everyone else

so stop with the responsibility and the ego
like it all rests in your hands

perception changes everything
expectation can ruin it all
and denying your self
never works
only hurts

You’re buried.
And wanting.
Stop mourning.
Start pushing.

stop biting your tongue at all the wrong times; your the only one that has to live your life

The responsibility for who you want to be
is so blatantly yours
it’s impossible to think anyone else would bear this;
it’s inescapable:
consequence

This is a combination of excerpts from the following poems of mine (in order of use): Saving Face, Get Lost, Get Back, Possession, Streaming Consciousness, Clarity, Bring the Fighter Back, Streaming Consciousness, Consequence.

Sometimes lines of poems stick out in my mind, like song lyrics tend to do. Sometimes I like to take a variety of lines and make something new with them. I usually write dozens and dozens of poems and journals about the same thing, so there are a lot of similarities in what I’m trying to say and making new combinations with the words says what I want to say in a new, possibly more effective way or newly relevant way. Sometimes though, it’s interesting to take some poems that weren’t written with the same concept in mind and see how the lines and words can go together. Either way, it’s something new. A rearrangement. A remix. Hope Alisa (and anyone else reading) enjoys.

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