Poetry – A Kinda Pretty Mess

I published a book!

Posted on October 21, 2022 by Chantelle Mathewson

I have been absent from this blog for almost two years now. Covid turned my life upset down, like it did so many others. I found myself moving back home. I found myself in new jobs and in new places that made me uncomfortable. I found myself outside of my comfort zone and I realized one very important lesson. I liked it there.

I am bad at updating my blog, but I have been writing. A lot! I wrote and self published a collection of poetry! For as long as I can remember, this has been a dream of mine. Since sixth grade when the library became a safe haven, I have wanted to have my writing published. I know this is only the beginning, and I am so excited to continue sharing my thoughts and ideas with the world.

How we choose to stay is a collection of poetry that focuses on my struggles with mental health, grief, and finally finding the courage to survive. I poured my soul onto the pages and cried more tears than I care to admit. It would mean the world to me if even one person gave it a look.

Thank you for being here.

Thank you for reading what I have to say.

Thank you for choosing to stay.

Letters to..., Poetry, Thoughts and Opinions

My Return To Writing

Posted on December 18, 2020 by Chantelle Mathewson

The sun comes up another day and I’m still here. I’m still here physically – my heart is pumping blood and my hands are typing these words. My thoughts are in a magical land. They’ve been there for months now, running free with Dragon’s that swoop in to save the day and girls who brandish swords and smile in the mouth of their prey. It’s safe here, with Monsters so easily killed and lifetimes that can last forever. Here, I can lock myself in a room with thunderous voices that keep the darkness away. I can throw away the key and my Dragon’s spew fire any time danger approaches.

I’ve been hiding, is probably a better way to put it. It’s not so poetic, but it all boils down to this – lately I’ve grown to hate reality. There are no shiny perfect princes here, no hoards of trained giants to clobber your enemies – here, I mostly feel alone.

I stopped writing about reality when it became too hard to put my thoughts into something so painful. Doing so broke me even further, because writing about the real and the raw and the jagged is exactly why I love writing so much. Telling real stories about real people, learning the thoughts behind actions, delving into the why and the how – there is nothing I have ever loved as much as painful writing. But I stopped because no one was reading it, because I was bleeding onto pages for only myself and somehow that felt wrong.

So why am I here now, you ask? I’m not entirely sure. There is going to be no fine tuning here, no fixing this draft to make it perfect. What I write, I am going to submit just as it is, because I need to return to writing the real, and I never will unless I just do.

The world recently lost a woman who never should have left this soon. She was a beautiful light, a ray of sunshine on any cloudy day, such a selfless person that she made you want to be better just by being around her. And it turns out, as much as I thought I was bleeding for no one, I was wrong. To not know that she had been reading my words all along cut deeper than I ever would have thought it would, but it also opened my eyes.

I am going to write every word that has ever tumbled into my brain and I am going to write it even when the audience is only me. I am going to tear these words from my heart and let them spew wherever they fall on the page, because this is where I feel the most whole. Because I know she is still reading over my shoulder, and I will not let her down. Because the world needs more real, more broken and damaged amidst all of the photoshopped and perfect. Because writing is who I am, and I’m no longer willing to sacrifice that for anyone.

Poetry

She Will Burn

Posted on December 30, 2019December 30, 2019 by Chantelle Mathewson

In a memory from years ago lives a girl in braided pigtails and mix – matched shoes who learned early “different” was meant to be an insult. It only took years of pointed laughter and averted glances for the insult to become armor. Dressing in vibrancy, a little to clumsy for grace and much to quiet for rebellion, the pigtails were replaced with hair dye, the shoes with tattoos.

The same girl learning how to be a woman wrapped different around her shoulders like a cape and strode into a life she wasn’t quite sure how to live. Finding comfort between pages and on a television screen, different was often replaced with anti social and guarded. Words that were meant to hurt had stopped hitting their mark at the middle school lockers, because it’s hard to harm someone who uses different as a weapon.

With a sword at her side, doing what she loved had always seemed so much easier than following the rules. I don’t know where exactly that brave woman got lost. Unlike a movie, it happened so slowly, it was impossible to catch. One morning, the woman who had never once second guessed her seemingly crazy decisions, looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the girl staring back.

Her sword was broken, cape torn and dirty, and for a moment, a woman who fought depression twice and won, wasn’t sure tomorrow was worth living. I can’t tell you when exactly the sword was fixed. There was not a finalized moment when she stood and remembered who she was. Maybe it was her favorite TV show or maybe it was her family or maybe it was just her – finally realizing that just like different, broken was never an insult.

Still not completely whole and not entirely sure how to walk when she can barely crawl, I can’t tell you when all of her pieces will fit together again. But that girl with pigtails in her hair and different in her genes will return and she she does, shield your eyes.

She will burn.

Poetry

My Business

Posted on July 8, 2019 by Chantelle Mathewson

We are in the business of settling

planted six feet deep with beating hearts

we earn our wages

weighed down by the dirt still being shoveled in

we wallow

and I am afraid this hole is where I will breath my last

We are in the business of settling

for lukewarm relationships and stale jobs

plastering a smile onto grey faces

already dead

with half our lives still left to live.

– CM

Poetry

The Day Before Today

Posted on July 7, 2019July 7, 2019 by Chantelle Mathewson

It was the day before today

Not yesterday because yesterdays are to close

but the day before today

a lifetime ago

When my whole body would shake

at the thought of losing you

like a leaf about to turn brown and drop

I didn’t know that the end could be so beautiful.

-CM

Letters to..., Poetry, Thoughts and Opinions

Dear World – Love, Unapologetic Me

Posted on July 5, 2019 by Chantelle Mathewson

Sixth grade English class, first day of school. I wore a purple t-shirt with two penguins printed on the chest I had so enthusiastically asked my mom for whilst school shopping. I liked penguins. The teacher told me to cover up because I was attracting too much attention. Later in private elaborating that too many of my male classmates were looking at the black and white birds displayed on my top.

This is the first time I was treated like an object to be molded rather than a human being.

My dear mother taught my sisters and I that fitting into a box was for woman too shy to be themselves. She taught us to wear the bright colors, to choose the mix matched socks, to buy daisy duke shorts and crop tops and strut them like we were made to be worshiped. My mother taught me to own my body.

Sophomore year of High School, last day of school. I was dressed in all black, walking to my waitressing job fifteen minutes from school when a middle aged man across the street whistled at me and called me sexy. When I angrily told my coworker, he told me I was asking for it. My barely developed teen body shivered as my cloths were suddenly too tight, wishing I had a blanket to wrap myself in to protect me from his stare.

We live in a world where short skirts and tight tops are seen as provocative while cat calls and labels are portrayed as normal.

Senior year, another day at work. A costumer walks in. I will never forget the red of her lips, the way her hair curled back from her face, the form of her body hugged in a black dress. The click of her heels as she approached the counter as if she was made to be there. She spoke the English language in a way that suggested it had been written all for her. When she left, the air was stale.

I promised myself that one day, I would own the room exactly the way that woman did.

Since the moment we learn to talk we woman are surrounded by voices telling us that we are not good enough. Our bodies are not thin enough. Our hair is not straight enough. Our clothes do not cover enough. Or our clothes cover too much. From the second we learn to walk we are groomed into perfect little misses, ushered into cages, taught that if we do not fit into a certain box we will not fit in anywhere.

My sixth grade teacher was a lady. Unknowingly, with only a quick instruction, she set a wheel in motion I was afraid would never stop rolling.

2019, 22 years old. I am still trying to unlearn what the world has forced down my throat since childhood by spoon feeding myself the teachings of a very wise woman. My mother. Her silent example the reason for my loud mouth and overflowing opinions.

Not every woman is lucky enough to have a mother as loud and colorful as mine. So many women are ushered into the darkness, into baggy clothes and fake smiles, believing this is the world they were meant to live in. These women sadly never get to learn what it means to exist freely in their bodies. So many women convinced there is nothing more to this life than the mold they were forced into.

I am here to help you become the woman you might have never known you even had the power to be. Wear the clothes you want. Weather those be the tight jeans and crop tops or the baggy dresses and sweaters. Cut your hair the way you want. Tell everyone exactly what you think. Open your mouth when people tell you to stay quiet.

Own every room you walk into, because this world is yours for the taking.

Poetry, Thoughts and Opinions

Giving Up: The Best Choice I Could Have Made

Posted on June 23, 2019 by Chantelle Mathewson

“Don’t give up!” “Keep going!” “It’s all worth it!”

These are just a few of my own personal mantras. I preach these not only to myself in order to get out of bed in the morning, but also to others, when they come to me with their worries and woes, expressing how bad of a life they have. Do not give up. This will forever be my one solid grain of advice when all my other pearls of wisdom fall to the wayside. When you feel like giving up, give it one more try.

However, that’s not what today’s post is about. Today’s post is actually about exactly the opposite. Today, I plan to tell you about the one time I gave up, and why to do this day, I don’t regret that decision.

Picture this. Years of friendship. The kind of friendship people look at and say “I wish I had a friend like that”. The no boundaries kind of friend. The my house is your house and your house is my house kind of friend. Her family was my family and my family hers. Summers were always spent together. Sleepovers were plentiful, laughing until we had stitches in our sides was an almost nightly event.

And now picture this. A falling out. Not a big fight, a sudden episode, a burst of anger. No, a slow and steady drift that started before either of us even noticed the crack. Days drifted into weeks, weeks into months, until one day we looked back and hadn’t spoken in nearly a year. Life gets busy. People have their own lives. So I’d reach out. She’d reach out. We’d both send a couple messages here and there. We would hang out when we could. The drift continued.

It was only a few months ago when I thought about the big question: Should I give up? It seemed like such a huge thing, such an important friendship to just wash down the drain. But still, each ignored message, each hasty reply, each awkward forced conversation, the question popped back into my mind. Would giving up really be the worst thing?

Some days I wish we had fought. Some days I wish one of us had broken the others heart, because then at least there would be someone to blame. Here, there is just pointing fingers when we both have dirty hands.

I finally made the decision early one morning over my cup of coffee. It was an exceptionally beautiful day. The morning was crisp, the birds were chirping. I never sit on my porch early in the morning, but this particular morning, I decided to. Wrapped in a throw blanket, my hair piled high on top of my head, my limbs still waking up, it came to me at first as a whisper. The thoughts weren’t concrete yet, and so I pushed them aside. But as the sun got higher in the sky, so did the thoughts grow louder in my head until I couldn’t shut them out anymore.

And so the messages stopped. I stopped scrolling up to reread old messages. I stopped digging through my search history to find something relevant to just “bring up” to start conversation. I stopped forcing myself to make something of the past a part of my future. I gave up trying to force something to work that just didn’t seem to want to work.

Giving up is such an ugly phrase. We tend to pair it with dark thoughts, with failure and death. Maybe sometimes giving up means new beginnings. Maybe sometimes giving up doesn’t mean you failed at all, but that you succeeded. Maybe sometimes parts of your past aren’t meant to exist in this moment.

Our friendship was beautiful. We existed for one another when neither of us had someone else to turn to. But people change. Life moves forward. Life also has a tricky way of bringing things back to us that we thought we’d let go.

Giving up meant I no longer had to worry about being the one to message first. Giving up meant I could focus on relationships that were flourishing, rather than watering those that maybe needed a break. Giving up meant resting at a time when I had been doing everything but, trying to keep an old flame flickering.

I write all of this only to let you know that it is okay to give up every now and again. Not on the bigger things. Never on yourself or your dreams or your own life. Never on those things. But sometimes giving up is the only way to see the bigger picture. Sometimes giving up allows you to take a step back and evaluate the situation from the outside.

Now to wrap up my story, because I am sure some of you are wondering. Some of you are probably even shaking your head. “Such a shame,” you’re probably thinking. “Years of friendship just gone.” I don’t see it that way.

I have outstretched arms for this woman and I always will. My home with always be her home. If she fell on her butt and needed some cash to get by, my money would be her money. My ear will always be ready to listen. I still want to be a part of her daughter’s life. I still want to grow old with her. I still want her to be my maid of honor whenever I do get married. Just because she is not part of my now does not mean she can’t be a part of my future. I will always love her in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever love anyone else. Because in a way, she was my first true love. Before either of us knew what romantic love was, when we only really knew we loved our parents and siblings, we grew to rely on each other and we grew together. That’s not something I will ever forget or take for granted, nor would I ever want to. The blunt truth though is that we are on different paths now. We are living different stories and that’s a good thing.

I gave up only to allow room for growth. I gave up only to allow the universe to do her thing. Because she really does have a way of knowing what is best for you.

Poetry, Thoughts and Opinions

Getting What you Want: A Leap of Faith

Posted on June 5, 2019June 5, 2019 by Chantelle Mathewson

I am a firm believer that hard work is the number one ingredient in getting what you want. Without hard work, dreams remain just that; dreams. Instilled in me since childhood has been this grit – a willingness to put forward every ounce of my energy into my desired outcome. However, I am also a firm believer that the second ingredient will always be faith. Let’s rewind.

I have had many people call me crazy when I tell them that I moved to Connecticut (four hours away from any family or friends) with only the money I had saved and no job lined up. I have had people look at me like I was stupid, questioning why anyone would do something so ridiculous. However, in the moment, the decision to move without any real plan was just a complete leap of faith. And I had no doubts that it would work out.

Similarly, a few years back my best friend and I made the drive from Vermont to Mississippi just the two of us, stopping at hotels along the way on a week long adventure. People asked why we didn’t fly. People asked why our parents would allow us to make this journey alone – we were almost twenty at the time, but looking back, it was risky. In the moment though, we set off with our suitcases in my friends Honda CRV, and took to the road with no doubts that we would do nothing but have the time of our lives.

I could explain to you several other instances in which I jumped without seeing the ground. With every single one, I would not be where I am today had I not taken that leap.

It is terrifying. Admittedly, it can be the scariest thing you will ever do. But it is also extremely important in getting what you want.

There is no secret recipe. No short cut to success. But if you work hard and believe in your actions, effort and faith will always pay off.

I am not here to say that you will not eventually leap and land on your behind. More than once I have tried and failed. But it’s in the getting back up where you win. It’s in the failing and always jumping again that you succeed.

Take the risk. Jump when you can’t see the ground, step when you don’t see the stairs, dive when you don’t know the depth – you will be rewarded. There is no success in safety. Always, it lives in the unknown.

Poetry, Thoughts and Opinions

I Dropped Out of College: Why it is the best decision I ever made

Posted on May 22, 2019May 22, 2019 by Chantelle Mathewson

This past weekend marked what should have been my college graduation. Class of 2019. I still get the Facebook group notifications even though I dropped out of college two years ago. My feed has been flooded the past few days with pictures of my friends in cap and gowns, and I can’t help but feel if just for a second, that I should be in those pictures with them. When I first felt that throb in my chest, that guilt and jealousy, I found myself quickly rewinding and checking myself because the simple truth is, dropping out of college when I did was the best thing for me.

Not for one second do I regret my decision to leave school. I was at the top of my classes, I was getting straight A’s on every project, on every assignment, I was the person to beat. But I was miserable. I was working a full time job, juggling a long distance relationship, trying to convince myself that I was happy studying a major I had no interest in. I was appeasing the system that had placed me in higher education, and I was miserable.

Do not get me wrong here. I think College is very important. I think any person who has dedicated their time and energy to getting a higher education is strong and beautiful and wonderful, and should be very proud of themselves. I am not here to bash anyone who has made that choice; they are very admirable and extremely necessary in society.

All of that though does not change that college was simply not for me. I am a happier, stronger, and still very well educated person today because I dropped out of college.

Let me explain.

I did not go to college because I had a passion for something. I went to college because that is what everyone was telling me to do. Teachers, advisers, family members, friends – almost every person in my life convinced me college was the best option. At times it seemed college was the only option. Coming from a small town, to some people, not going to college is much like a death sentence.

Still, college was not for me.

There are people who when I tell them my story, tell me I picked the wrong major. It would have been better for me if I’d picked a different major. I picked the wrong college. It would have been different for me had I picked a different college. I disagree with all of these statements. It wasn’t the majors fault. It wasn’t the college’s fault. It was all on me.

I studied hard. I got good grades. I had amazing professors. I learned plenty. I didn’t fail at college by any means. But I was a terrible human being during those two years. I was miserable. I got up every morning dreading life no matter what I had planned for the day. I knew I was going to have to sit in class and pretend to enjoy the lectures I was sitting through. I sat next to people with fire in their bellies, people so passionate about the subject that they would stand to answer questions and I remember thinking – “give me some of that fire”. I remember just wanting to feel something, but that’s not how it works.

The day I dropped out of college, the only thing I remember feeling was relief. I expected to feel anger at myself for quitting. I expected to feel ashamed of myself. I expected to feel regret or fear looking at the loans I was still going to have to pay off. But no. All I felt was relief. And to this day, all I have ever truly felt about my decision to drop out of college is relief.

I have no idea where I am going to end up. I may go back to college one day. I may decide never to go back. But at this point in my life, I have a job. I pay my own bills. I am doing something I love to do. I have plans for the next couple of years. I am happy. And above all, I am not ashamed of the choices I made to get here.

Going to college is a choice so many people make, and for so many people, it is absolutely the right decision. Also though, there are plenty of people who choose not to and still live abundant lives and are no less a member of society than those that have a degree.

I will end this post by saying simply this: be you. Choose what makes you happy. Do what makes you happy. As long as your bills are getting paid, you aren’t breaking any laws, you aren’t hurting anyone else, and you are happy, then who should be a judge of what is right in your life but yourself?

Poetry