I hope this counts (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, Oct 10 2009

I want to apologize
every time he touches me
because I’m so sorry
it’s not you.

You know I tried,
right?

Or doesn’t it count-
so long ago?
Or doesn’t it matter
at all?

I hold tight to hope
while shadows push their way
as far as they can go,
take everything they can…

They can’t
take this-
this part that’s been waiting.

You know
I always wanted YOU-
right?

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big children, small adults (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 29 2009

Can I just say,

it was unfair

to let me be

such a small adult.

love was not enough

to show me the ropes

A child’s decisions

should be questioned.

Didn’t anyone see

the child in me?

Didn’t anyone

lack enough belief?

It was obligation,

everything I did

It was preservation,

everything I hid

It was fear,

every time I ran

It was grasping

to understand

everything you couldn’t tell me

while you were so consumed

You didn’t see the child in me,

but I saw the one in you.

And I knew if I lost it,

if I let go

there’d be no one to come and get me

no one would know

what to say

and no one would realize

till much too late.

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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.

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The Axis (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, Aug 15 2009

The sadness

just

carries-

same as always.

The same ache,

and there’s no one

waiting.

We are worlds apart,

galaxies between.

And somehow

that doesn’t dull the drive,

the curiosity,

the hunger,

the need.

It doesn’t slow the sadness

at my axis-

that which I spin upon-

can’t separate myself from.

Who would I be

without this?

Would I stop moving?

Would I combust?

Would we…

Of course I can’t ask that

we still have lightyears to cross.

We have so much darkness to navigate,

so many rocks and ice and  flames.

I can’t do anything with this

but repeat it.

All these arrangements of letters and words,

to say the same thing.

Of all the things that change

this isn’t one.

This is

strange gravity,

pulling, spinning, ignoring me.

You are

so far,

so much.

I can’t touch anything

without the greatest efforts and manipulations-

just for seconds of hope I squeeze from your stars.

I miss everything we never are.

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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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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 5 Tuesday, Jul 7 2009

I wrote this when I was 14, in 8th grade. The title is Porch Swing.

The dogwood blooms have fallen off
Spring flowers passed away
The late sunset signifies
The end to the hot day
While crickets sing
Fireflies dance
And the sunset fades away
Porch swing creaks
And I can almost hear my grandma singing
Amazing Grace
How sweet the sound
In my imagination
Barefoot in the grass
Avoiding the broken glass
Of the abandoned house
Once theirs
And the porch swing creaks
My grandfather speaks
To me
No one else can hear him
And I only see
Those trees
From the porch swing
All that’s left are memories
Where two people used to be
And all that’s left to see
Is an old farmhouse
And a silent swing.

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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.

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Goodbye is an Evening (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, May 30 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a farewell poem.

Goodbye is an Evening

No goodbye
I ever tried
really did anything
like what it said.

Even funerals were just midpoints,
resting spots,
before everything
spun off.

Every person’s movement,
every person’s light,
attached to the thinnest strand:
unbreakable still.

Each person
going where they go,
where they’ve been,
weaving me in.

So goodbye was just a word to say
temporary things,
to say something changed-
the end of the day.

You can’t put people away,
you can’t put away things
that keep moving,
keep meaning.

Goodbye is only an evening-
a moment when we rest between
the places we’re going
and the places we’ve seen

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/30/AprilPADChallengeDay30.aspx

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Collection Calls (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, May 26 2009

“All I’ve got is what’s in my head
Please don’t go,
I’ve been trying to reach you through this phone” – Harvard

Collection Calls

I hope you
burned those letters
and poems.
I hope the words filled the air
from ink to smoke
from solid pen-on-paper honesty
to vapors of things
not free
just changed
just mistaken
for the kind of thing
that a good night’s sleep and a shower
can wash away.

I hope you burned them
and I hope it hurt you
to know you turned it all into ash
to know what you had,
could still have
if you’d just been able to hold on…

I tried to write the words
on your skin
on your lips
your cheek
your forehead
your neck

I guess they never took
I guess you never let them sit
I guess the ones
I pressed to your chest
were the first ones dismissed

and yes
I’m angry
and I will be
until I’m done
grieving this
and I’ll grieve it
as long as it hurts
and everytime you
half ass
an attempt
to normalize this
you magnify it

You can ignore this
as much as you want,
it doesn’t make it disappear.
I hope you burned
all the paper evidence
and still twinge
when you remember.

How long are you going to pretend
nothing happened
nothing mattered?

It’s the dumbest carousel we’re on right now
but I’m not leaving
till you finally make the jump
and say something
one way or the other
I don’t care anymore
what comes out of your mouth

just that
you pick the words you know you mean the most
and stick to them,
place them
on my head,
rain them down

I’m so thirsty for anything you offer,
I’ll drink whatever you’ve got
and if you finally pour out the real stuff
I promise
I’ll stop.

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Haiku (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, May 26 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem involving miscommunication.

He said – “I love you”
What he really meant – “I’m high”
It’s too bad highs crash.

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem involving miscommunication.

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