pour the waves (by Rebecca Chasteen) Monday, Oct 12 2009

Some days,
the music just has to be loud
loud enough
to drive out all temptation to believe in lies
to drive out the numb that doesn’t try

The music just has to be moving enough
to keep me moving
has to remind me of
everything that matters
everything that moves
there is never
nothing
I can do

I can do
something with this
even if it’s
just feel it
even if it’s
just be here

be here
and don’t leave
don’t obliterate myself
on rocky shores
don’t release my grasp
don’t follow their lead
this is what there is to believe-
this is all there is
and this is all that matters

some days
the music just has to be loud
loud enough
to remind me

I just have to be needy enough
to pull it in
anxious
angry
enough
to demand more

pour the waves
pour the waves
pour the waves

my skin is bare
my throat is dry
my stomach waits
my heart aches

pour the waves
pour the waves
pour the waves

One Response »

 

Nothing left- the final step (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 15 2009

You stand, stripped, looking at the mirror
your lack of reflection proves your disappearance
you are a million things,
and nothing

everything you took off
is now wrapped around your ankles,
tight-
like shackles
you can’t put anything back, nothing fits anymore

You wait for someone to take you,
but there’s nothing left to take.

You move, slowly, weighted,
towards sleep
but you don’t even know which way to go
your compass broke

You have no convictions-
sounds like a death sentence.

faith drips from your skin,
making puddles beside love-belief
it will all evaporate
like trust
disappointment had you purge enough
to be rid of hope
and reconciliation

You search for something,
words-
that mean nothing and change nothing
you try them,
taste them,
throw them out.

The depths of you are vacant now, aren’t they?

It’s dangerous, not to mention unattractive
to stand the way you do,
waiting
spilled open
aimless

I have nothing left to say to you.

One Response »

 

Bring The Fighter Back (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 15 2009

Bring the fighter back,
You’ve been under attack for too long.
Letting go-
you let too much get gone.
Sometimes you wonder just where it went wrong.

You look in the mirror
and all you see
is who you used to be,
want to be,
will never be.

You can’t get free of the things
that keep breaking you down -
the things you let tear you right to the ground

Well,
Stop.

Bring the fighter back.
You’ve it all go slack.
You need to stop letting things kick your ass,
And start kicking back.

You feel lost,
At a loss,
Never enough,
Like giving up

Bring the fighter back.
You’re back and forth,
You’re up and down,
On and off the right track,
Never feeling found,
Where you stand never seeming sound.

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

Because the battles we fight on the inside
are the ones that effect our day-to-day lives.

Find a way to put your vices down.
It’s time to GET UP
And stop sitting around.
Find the things you’re missing.
Be done with envy and wishing.

Stop whispering excuses,
And screaming out blame.

Bring the fighter back,
And get back in the game.

Leave a Response »

 

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?

4 Responses »

 

Haiku Tuesday, Jul 28 2009

I need roots, not vines

what’s the use of wings if I

never get to fly?

2 Responses »

 

Poems of Notebooks past, poem 2 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Jul 1 2009

I wrote this when I was 17, in 11th grade

I hate this whole fucking place.
That’s a lie.
It just felt good to say.

I hate the past.
It makes me want
for things I cannot have.

I just want to stay here,
in my anger,
in my hate.

I hate myself.
I despise the way I cry like this
and the way I’ve lied
I’m such a bitch.
I appear so nice.

I’m just deceitful,
selfish,
and weak

Hiding behind smiles,
the right words,
and pride

I can’t blame anyone else
for the mess I am inside

I’ve pushed everyone away
cause nobody tired
enough to satisfy my longing

I want for what I may never have
and the disappointment of that
fuels these tears

My desire and will are fading
as the truth of my ugliness outshines them

This part’s become too much for me to play
I want to quit
I want to go away

I’m so blessed, no one can fathom
How I’m so empty
and discontented

What’s so fucking wrong with me
that I can’t manage to just be happy?

Why do I want things that seem so out of reach
when so much is laid right in front of me?

This lonely, selfish hatred
seems to be the foundation for the insanity
that will surely one day
overcome me

I can’t be what I’m not.
I don’t know what I am
I want more, but I don’t think anyone offers what I demand

The tragedy of my life
is I look nothing
like how I am inside.

One Response »

 

Poems of Notebooks past, poem 1 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Jul 1 2009

This was written when I was 15, in 9th grade.

I always come back here,
my comfort zone
where I drop to when I feel alone

I fall back into
my sullen cell

I get so tired of people
they’re so dumb
I’m hypocritical,
I know
I’m down and out,
does it show?

I’m fighting tears and fits of rage
I’m burning in this spotlight on this stage
I hate this place
I smile to front
Someone, fill this space

Damn this place
Damn you all
Damn these emotions
I always fall
into this solemn state

I feel safe
I’m not
I’m more vulnerable
than I was before
I’m more confused
more insecure
so,here I am
broken again
I’m tired of all this
But I’m scared to move on

It’s not the innocence I miss
It’s my fault I’m alone
cause I’m not
I’m just pulling away

melancholy
jealousy
I’m stained

all this pain
it’s all the same
soon it will fade
I’ll be okay.

3 Responses »

 

Maple Framed Engagement Photo (by Rebecca Chasteen) Monday, May 11 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem about an object (or objects). Though you don’t have to confine yourself to straight up description, I do want you to focus on object and/or make it a central piece of your poem.

Maple Framed Engagement Photo

I forgot there were scratches on it.
I forgot the glass had been broken,
and had torn at our canvas,
our before
(though it was really just a between).

We weren’t ready
for that photo
that day-
(my striped blue shirt, your head shaved)
but we had it taken anyway.

That’s us-
once the movement
is set in motion,
we step up,
and keep on going.

I don’t remember what I was thinking
when I shoved it under the bed.
Did I think it would recover?
That the scars would just fill in,
like they never existed?

What was it
that tore it
from the wall?
Was it the vodka
that made it fall?

Or was it something
harder
to swallow,
sleep off,
and pour down the drain?

You said
the whole thing
was worthless,
Then you said
not to leave.

So I just picked up the pieces
and hid the debris.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/11/AprilPADChallengeDay11.aspx

Leave a Response »