short poems

Beautiful and Broken

by J. A. Anderson 

The most

Beautiful art

Comes from the

Most broken

Minds

 

Stories Never Die

by J. A. Anderson

The smell of

Pages aged by

Time

The binding

Broken by

A hundred hands

The title

Almost unreadable now

So faded,

But not gone

And yet the

Stories never

Die

 
Dad’s Shoes

by J. A. Anderson

when i was little

i used to wear

dad’s shoes

and stomp around all day

but Now

I only stare at his

Military boots

And cry over the

Only thing

Left of him

 

 

More Poetry at “always anxious, sometimes brave.” and “A Handful of Roses.”

anxiety.

Anxiety

by J. A. Anderson

They are watching me

Even if you say they aren’t, they are

I feel their stares

Can hear their comments about me

Whispered harshly under their breath

The eyes of them stalk me

Even if i am alone

I can’t breathe unless I tell myself to

My stomach always acts as if I’m about to lose everything in it

Where are the exits?
Where is the bathroom?

Where, where, where?
This room is too small

Too dark

My mind is too small

Too dark

My thoughts don’t stop

They just

Go. Go. Go.

I’m drowning inside

Though I’m dry

I’m dying when I am most alive

I can see everything in color

But why does it seem so black and white?

Nightmares haunt my waking days

Where are the exits?

Why are they staring?

When can my thoughts

Just

stop.

 

Boys Will Be Boys

Boys Will Be Boys

by J. A. Anderson

 

i’m in third grade

a boy pushed my to the ground

and sat on top of me

he didn’t move until i made him

no one tried to help

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in fourth grade

a boy threatened me with

chunks of concrete from the black top

no one stopped him from

throwing them at me

i had to defend myself

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in the fifth grade

a gang of boys chased me

grabbed me

pulled on my hair

held onto my arms tightly

they didn’t let go until i got free

no one yelled at them

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in sixth grade

and i sit with my legs open

it’s comfortable and

a boy sits the same way

i’m told to sit like a lady, with my legs closed

no one told him to sit with his legs closed

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in the seventh grade

a boy made a sexual joke

about me

no one told him to stop

i didn’t make him stop

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in the eighth grade

a boy called me a bitch

no told him to shut his mouth

he didn’t apologize

and i didn’t make him

Boys Will Be Boys

 

i’m in the ninth grade

a boy smacked me across the face

i hit him back

no one told him not to hit

he still thinks it was okay

Boys Will Be Boys

Held Responsible For Their Actions.

Just. Like. Girls.

Changed Me.

A short story by J. A. Anderson

 

That’s all it was. A window. With two sun-bleached drapes hanging limply on the sides, a small crack in the corner, chipped paint covering the wood around it.

And yet, it shaped my life.

My sister jumped out of the window a few years ago. Maybe it changed me for the better. Maybe for the worse. All I know is that it changed me.

I have stared out of this window at the city streets below, watching cars slosh on by during thunderstorms while rain splattered the glass. I watched the sun dip below the buildings and then watched as a few orange slivers disappeared beneath the horizon. Maybe that changed me, too.

One day, I saw him outside the window. He looked up while I looked down and he smiled a small, crooked smile. I scratched my number on a paper airplane. I wish I could say we met and fell in love, but that was a fantasy.

The airplane fell into the puddle he had been standing in. He had walked away and never looked back. The crooked smile was misread, the squint in his eyes not disbelieving my beauty. I was not as radiant as the sun or as mysterious as the moon.

And maybe that changed me, too.

I guess I’ll never know. Life throws little things at us. And big things. All that change us, for better, for worse. For whatever reason. And I guess I’m happy that something changed me.

If you are changed, you cannot go back to the same person you were.

Maybe that’s better.

Maybe that’s worse.

 

I hoped you enjoyed this little short story. It is completely made up. Want to read more? My Wattpad account is linked here!

Thanks for reading!

Nature Is My First Love

Nature is my first love

The sun has a golden touch

But the moon

Can whisper the sweetest love letters

The tallest trees

Have the most beautiful voices

But the grass whispers

The secret of life to the wind 

Snowflakes kiss

My eyelashes

And fill me with hope

But the rain

Caresses my skin and

Washes away my fears

The stars

Wink at me

From across the skies

But the smooth rocks

Along tide-washed shores

Beg to be held

And while I can never

Truly be with the moon

Or the rain

Or the smoothest of stones

I can still dream of them

Because nature is my first love

-by Jamie Anderson

***Do not forget about the Wattpad Contest, ending tomorrow! Click here!!!

Time Changes

a Summer 2017 poetry workshop mailer

Week 1: Time & Personal Growth / Identity
Writing & Reading (Rosalynde Vas Dias, Cecilia Llompart, Kaveh Akbar)

Week 2: Time & Relationships 
Writing & Reading (Hanif Willis Abdurraqib, Ada Limón)

Week 3: Time & Appearance 
Writing, Reading (Blythe Baird, Daniel Garcia, Jan Beatty, C. Samuel Rees), & Editing

Week 4: Time & Mental & Spiritual Health 
Writing, Reading (Toi Dericotte, Kaveh Akbar), Editing, & Recording

Week 5: Time & Community 
Writing & Reading (Ada Limón, Siaara Freeman)

Week 6: Time & Society 
Writing, Reading (Natalie Diaz, Craig Santos Perez), & Recording


View Kelsey May’s credentials here. Questions? Email kelseymayfraser (at) gmail (dot) com.