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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Life’s Breath (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 29 2009

I’ve always loved the recklessness

the road warned against

supplies

the breath of life

comes from choosing feeling

the road suggested

comes stealing conviction,

suffocating belief,

handing out grief,

it will work a spirit till it’s weak

and considers falling in line

happens all the time

to even the most headstrong

poison in the heart

making it all seem wrong

making what’s not

look so good

making what is

look like something no one would

hold on to

And the choosers forget why they choose what they choose

and don’t know what is true

or what to do

clarity comes

in so many forms

looks like perseverance pays-

seeking the soul of things

till

the chooser gets back the reigns

and can see

what it feels like

to have been right

from the first step

of recklessness

the gritty sweet

of life’s breath.

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Tin Men (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 15 2009

“I strongly suspect that the capacity for pain and the capacity for joy are equal. Only those who have suffered great pain are able to know equally great joy.” Madeline L’Engle

Tin Men

Sometimes
I just want to kick you (so many of you) in the chest,
break you open
What could you possibly be hiding?
Hiding from?
You must think there’s safety in being numb.
You think there’s no redemption, no healing comes?

It’s really not that bad,
feeling things.
You think everyone hasn’t felt that same
hesitation?
It’s just, there comes a point
where you let go,
until you do
there are things you’ll never know,
never understand.

How good can you possibly feel,
Holding back like that?
Tell me you don’t seek what you lack.

You have logic, and vices, and jokes
but I’ve seen your capacity
flicker in your eyes.
Sometimes when you speak
and words are left waiting,
I see what we don’t say.
You think it falls away?

Don’t talk to me about reason and hurt-
those are just graves,
I won’t wallow in that dirt.
I can’t stand clichéd excuses,
it’s so pathetic
and a completely useless
attempt of defense.

Do you really believe cold hard walls make you strong?
All they are is fear,
leaving you too weak to take the risk.

Countless tin men;
women pour themselves over,
hunting the smallest crack in armor.
Just trying
to give something to make the tin men real.

I can’t count the times
I ache
for you (each of you)
to break open
before you’ve lost too much.

“The waste of life lies in the love we have not given, the powers we have not used, the selfish prudence which will risk nothing and which, shirking pain, misses happiness as well.” Unknown

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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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A day without him is not a wasted day (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Sep 15 2009

You try to look past
all the things he’ll say
that always end up
making you feel this way.

But you know inside
it’s kinda wrong
until you hear his favorite song
and go back to when
you felt so loved
and you just don’t want to be
the one to give up.

In your mind, you rationalize
the things he does
and convince yourself
that your love is enough.

You look at him
and see the man
you’re sure he is deep down.
You’re sure if you just stick around,
that man will come out.

But the boy he is now
is always tearing you down
then picking you up
and dragging you around.

You say “Maybe it’s not his fault.”
You’re heart sinks to the floor
as you realize you’re caught.

He calls the shots,
He makes the rules,
He picks you apart,
He knows what to do
to keep you
just broken enough
that you never get your strength back up.

So much of who you’ve become
has been you wanting to be his “one”

And you’re scared to death
that if you lose him, you’ll lose yourself
And you’ll never find you again
or anyone else.

But that’s not true.

When do you say ” I’ve done all I could”
and step out on a limb and do what you should?
When do you decide
this version of love is wrong?
When can you not think of him
when you hear those songs?
When do you feel that you’ll be okay
that a day without him is not a wasted day?
When do you realize this is less
than you will accept?
When do you break free
and take that step?
You give and you give,
When do you give it up
and let go
of the love
that keeps you so torn up?

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I’m a Giant Kicker (by Rebecca Chasteen) Thursday, Aug 20 2009

I jump into fires
and lion’s dens.
I run up to giants,
sling my stones
and kick their shins.

My armor is well used,
molded in battle.
Every time I come out
a slightly different warrior,
but a warrior all the same.

Sometimes
I’m in the belly of the whale
but I still end up right where
I am
right when
right in
the design.

I have this independent spirit, this pilgrim heart.
I won’t do just because someone told me to.
I will seek – I won’t be told my truths.

I’m this fighter for faith
I’m not satisfied standing by.
I’m not willing to stop.
I breathe only because I believe.

I have these words, these lover’s hands
I speak the mercy I know, what I’ve been shown.
I touch wounds easy,
I know I’m no healer-
but love can be.

I am this spirited, lover -fighter -pilgrim- child.
I am shaped, designed, and carefully wired
just as I am
by this Master Artist’s hands.

There is nothing new under the sun
I’m not the first that stood to fight,
sought the truth,
refused to run.

I’m not the first that begged for yes or no-
that walked for years unsure of where or how to go.
I’m not the first to doubt, or the first to serve,
the first that didn’t listen or crafted pretty words.

I am in the company of sinners and saints, all the same;
all magnificently capable and incredibly lame.

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Nothing Lost (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Jul 28 2009

Everything always rests in the air.
I fall apart,
and it ends up right there;

tension and aching
everything breaking-
pouring
sex
and
anger,
love
and
disgust,
fear and longing,
elation and crushed…

dreams and
disappointment
sincerity,
lust

I don’t trust
any one
enough
to hand them my heart
well, I have-
but that
fell apart
that,
was pretend

I believe in second chances
but some things
don’t mend,
some things
don’t settle
some things,
ride gusts of wind
hang on clouds
fog up windshields,
thicken-
hang around…

some things dissipate,
float away
only to
reassemble and return another day
find another way
to circle me
like a vulture,
like a hawk,
like the most insistent
stalk
the things they know are theirs…

I stand in smog,
in cool breezes
heavy air,
easy breathing
and still
all the honesty won’t leave
can’t be blown or brushed-
disguised at times, but never hushed
can’t be driven beyond the clouds
or to the ground

can’t be found and held captive in a distant cell
it knows me well
and clings instead
right around my chest,
just beside my head
asks me to inhale
teases me to breathe deep
and take it all back in
it waits
by my skin
insisting again
to mix, to intoxicate my strength
with courage

every exhale
requires a breath
that begs for compensation
all I’ve ever let go
is waiting…
condensation
evaporation
relocation

I’ll never be allowed to breathe
completely free
until I find a place for the words I let go
but won’t let go of me

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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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Pretty (by Rebecca Chasteen) Monday, Jun 29 2009

Don’t be so surprised by pretty mouths full of dirty words-
the dirty is not the part that hurts.

Everyone knows
pretty only gets you so far
and it’ll come down to
what you’ll swallow
and what you’ll spit,
what you’ll reject
and what you’ll stretch or shrink to fit

Pretty mouths
have to learn
“Me first”
and
“Fuck you”
or even
“Fuck me”

Pretty mouths have to be
able to say “No”
and spit it with conviction

Pretty mouths
have to practice non-pretty ways
to secure attention

Pretty mouths
have to be willing
to dirty themselves
with
sex and money and politics,
with opinions and arguments

Pretty mouths
have to put out
exactly
what they’re told to take down
so their voice
makes it’s way around
the teeth and tongue and lips,
all the things that rest on the tips…

I’m not saying pretty mouths
can’t gloss it up,
can’t pout it out,
can’t pour out sweet,
and drink sweet down

I’m not saying pretty mouths
can’t move as they choose-
but a pretty mouth that won’t get dirty
may lose all there is to lose

So don’t you dare lay out
fairytales
for little lips
from the spoons of your mouths

Don’t enchant them
with dreams that someone else must fulfill
(because no one can and no one will)

No-
feed them
honesty and the power of vocabulary
that spans all the things they’ll ever taste or
have to demand or
suck away from someone else
to make sure they have enough for themselves

Feed them love and feed them the gritty,
just don’t feed them
the crutch of pretty.

4 Responses »

 

Side step (by Rebecca Chasteen) Monday, Jun 29 2009

I couldn’t slip through
I couldn’t side step you-

don’t worry

the best
can
get beyond the worst
with such quiet calm
they look crazy

and I am satisfied
with my changes

blazes
eradicate
the least important things,
so I’ve never really minded being licked by flames

the more you rough me up,
the smoother I become;
sandpaper against scratches
just polishes me up

I don’t try
to stand above,
untouched

I don’t stop
uneasy,
unsure

whatever label you’ve given me,
just know that I’m more

I can take any shape
and I’m so pliant
I won’t break

So,
I didn’t slip through
I didn’t side step you
I didn’t try to.

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