I'm just a girl with a lot to say. I've got a ton of stories to share and minds to open. Here I show to you my poetry, stories, and other topics that fill my mind.
Who
knew strange fruit could kill me?
Bitter taste of poison
Leaves drip red against the sun
Not of my own hand
But by my own mouth
Spit seeds of death
Before it takes my voice
Decay of rind
Such beautiful fruit
Succulent life
Sway
Where life begins
Strange fruit ends
I tend to the fallen in darkness
Plant remains of soul
Suck poison from root
I succumb to strange fruit
For
our poetry class today we did a workshop on found poetry. I did mine
from Trump tweets. This is the best compliment on any of my writing
ever. 😂 I'll post the actual poem in a few.
I started writing this a few days after I found out I was pregnant.
Now I’m writing this after spending hours in the ER to find out you’re
gone. I spent my whole life saying I never wanted kids, then the moment I
found out I was I was so excited. By the end of the night I knew you’d
be either a miss Lennon Amira (or Lennon Sarai) or William Dearron. Now
my heart feels crushed. Who knew a person I had never met before could
make me feel so many emotions at once. I know this is the story of many
women and I’m not alone, but at the same time I’d imagine things would
be different for me. I looked forward to my belly. I looked forward to
holding you for the first time, watching you bond with your dad and
sister. I looked forward to first steps, first words, and first days of
school. I don’t know how many losses in my life I can take. I know it
was only two months, but I feel like I lost a child. I’m just
devastated. I feel like it’s my fault. I know it’s not, but that doesn’t
make it any easier. I keep wondering how I could’ve prevented this. No
one tells you how soul crushing a miscarriage is, but it is. I know that
everything happens for a reason, but in this moment the universe sucks,
in my eyes.
I do find some peace that when I entered the
ER a dragonfly flew by me to the entrance. Maybe it was my dad telling
me it would be OK. I don’t feel OK, but I know it will be. I hope I get
another chance one day. A chance to be a mom, but you will always be my
first. The one that filled me with so much joy, in two months, that I
could be a mommy.
My original post:
Since I’ve now
shared my biggest news with my mom I can now share with you. May 2019
I’ll have a little one joining this crazy planet. Although I’m sharing
this sometime in November I am now writing this in late September
exactly a week after finding out I was already five weeks. My initial
reaction was just content. We had our discussion about our next moves,
but everything positive. Content.
A week later I’ve
freaked out about what I’ve been eating, have I stressed too much, can
my body wash/facial cleansers affect my Nugget?, and all other things
I’m sure new moms freak out about. As the days go on I’m starting to
freak out about things much deeper. Things like: Will I suffocate his or
her dreams like I felt like mine were? Will I keep them from growing?
It’s not about cuts, and scrapes, and bruises. Those heal. I’m worried
about any possible unintentional emotional pain. If Nugget comes to me
and says they’re trans or gay am I really an ally the way I feel I am?
How do I shield them from the people out there who cause harm to lgbtq
kids? Then the big elephant in the room. I’m going to give birth to
either a little black boy or little black girl. How do I keep them safe
from the people who will hate them for the color of their skin? How
young is too young to have the talk about how we have to be extra
careful around police? That we have to work twice as hard to get half as
much? How late is too late to have that talk? What if Nugget is a girl?
How do I prepare her for the creeps she may run into? How to be on high
alert, because unfortunately in this society a woman’s body is not her
own. How do I shield him or her from bullies? I can teach them all day
everyday how to keep their heads high and stand up for themselves, but
that still doesn’t mean bullying doesn’t bruise self esteem and
confidence.
Nugget won’t know what it feels like to walk into a
Toys R Us and be blown away. Kids today don’t get to hold on to their
innocence for long like we did. They know too much too soon. How do I
keep stressors away from you and let you remain an innocent child
throughout your childhood years and not take on adult problems?
I
had to think about how this would change me and your dad. One piece of
advice that has always stuck with me was from an old friend who had a
child and married pretty early. She told me that once her daughter was
born her relationship took a nosedive because she became more focused on
her daughter. She said she had to find the perfect balance between her
daughter and her marriage. That it couldn’t be just about your kid. You
have to make time for your partner as well. I hope that for us because I
love your dad very much. You’re both my world. Without your dad there
would be no you. I hope to give you an example of loving parents. I want
you to grow up with the vision of nothing but love and teamwork. I
think that’s crucial for you. It’s crucial for any little Nugget out
there.
…. I never finished this. Goodbye, our Nugget
Blowing smoke
On empty breath
Flashing words with no meaning
You suffocate on faded messages
Spreading signals no one sees
Black lungs
A last exhale
Still not heard
Just words that mean nothing
Being muttered on empty breath
In light of a few things going on in my life dealing with relationships I figured I do one of these since its been a while.
I want to talk about friend G. Unlike my other tales this is about me.
No need to freak out and think “Oh God what kind of story is she
conjuring up for me.” Just relax. G was, has, and is an amazing friend.
We have the type of friendship where we don’t need to talk all of the
time, but we’re always there for each other. Correction: She’s mostly
there for me. Myself for her could use some work.
We’ve
known each other at least 20+ years and in all of those years I don’t
think I’ve been a good enough friend to her. None of that was
intentional, of course, but somehow that would always be the outcome.
One of the first instances that I knew I hurt her was the year I
graduated high school. I was a year before her and I remember her
wanting to come to the graduation, but all my tickets went to family
members. Actually I was pissed because an aunt bowed out last minute
because of a disagreement with another family member. That was a ticket
that could’ve been hers. What happened next was totally my fault. I had a
small graduation party a few days later. Nothing special. It was only
family and one close friend. I didn’t invite anyone else. I didn’t see
it as a big deal, but I ran into a teacher of ours a few weeks later and
she expressed to me how hurt G was about that. I felt terrible, but not
terrible enough that it didn’t keep happening.
This
is the mistake I keep making and my poor reasoning or attempt to
understand and explain why this keeps happening. I constantly put people
above her who are not as loyal a friend as her. G’s friendship has
never wavered with me. The friend I invited to the party instead of her
is actually S from my second Tragic Best Friend Tales.
A girl, who when I finally got tired of her lies and manipulation,
called me a “nigger” cause I refused to fall her bullshit again. Why did
I put S over G? There is no one thing I can pinpoint. S was a little
more rough around the edges. She challenged authority, had no issues
about being the loudmouth and different. I convinced myself that I had
more in common with her than anyone therefore I valued her friendship
more. My lousy excuse as to why this happens? I’m not sure if it’s
because I’m older than G or that she seemed to be the closest thing to
pure that I know, but I felt like I should’ve been an example for her
and I wasn’t. I’m not sure why that’s my logic, but it is what it is.
I reflect on my friendship with her and how I’ve treated her as I deal
with more recent relationships where I’ve made myself vulnerable around
these friends only to not feel that friendship not reciprocated. I can
look at these friends and remember being there for them through break
ups, late night calls, encouraging them, being with them through big
moments in their lives, etc. I take to heart the times people are there
for me through darker times not the happy moments (although you
obviously want friends there through the good times as well). When look
at my most recent dark moments these people weren’t there. When I lost
my home and everything I had these friends hype me up as if I had a
support system, but when it came down to it, I was alone. G didn’t even
know the depth of it because I never told her. I felt that if I told her
I’d feel even more like a failure, again because I felt like I looked
like someone who should’ve had her shit together and I don’t. So she had
no idea the emotional roller coaster I was going through. When I lost
my father these other friends I heard very little from if at all, nor
did they visit me or attend the funeral yet even though G lives out of
state now, she sent me a long handwritten letter to show how much she
cared. When it came to these friends if there were times I couldn’t be
there for them or chose something else I got shunned, talked about, and
given the cold shoulder even though when I was going through the
roughest times in my life (ESPECIALLY the death of my dad) I still had
the time to makes excuses for their absence.
I don’t
deserve G. I truly don’t. I’ve had many friends where we’ve had falling
outs, but never with her. I’ve never in my life felt wronged by her, yet
I’ve not been the best friend that I could be. There’s lots of
traumatic things that I never even knew she went through until she
expressed it in her writing and I felt terrible. Why wouldn’t she
confide in me? Then I’d have to remind myself, “why would she?” I
wouldn’t if I was her. I really wouldn’t. I make this my vow to be a
better friend to G. It’s what she deserves.
I came across a post on Facebook that I found a bit troubling. It
wasn’t that this post, in particular, was triggering, but that many
exist like it and it’s purpose is to solely do one thing: shame women.
There’s plenty of memes floating on Instagram that people get a kick
out of that will shame women for wearing too much makeup, having fake
hair, being promiscuous, using Snapchat, what her vagina should smell
like, what superficial things she should bring to a relationship, the
size of her ass, etc, etc, etc. I could keep going for days. I’m not
quite sure what I find saddest; the women who piggyback off of this type
of thinking or the men who actually believe this no matter how vastly
incorrect some of it may be (for instance the men who believe that if a
woman sleeps with multiple men it changes the size of her vaginal wall
or that vaginal discharge isn’t normal.) In this day and
age, why do people 40 and under keep pushing this negative image of
women? We can’t win. If we have our makeup done to the gawds, eyebrows
fleeked out, that Fenty contour on point, and a highlight that would
make an angel cry we get called fake. Then comes the memes of “Take her
swimming on a first date” or that we’re catfishing. Yet if we leave the
house with just putting on Chapstick then we look like bums or plain. We
can’t have close cut hair cause then we’re called men. If you have
extensions in then we’re, again, lying or bald. We can’t be too fat, too
thin, too dark, too light, hair not short, hair not long. God forbid
you wear too many clothes and Lord have mercy on your soul if you wear
too little. You can’t have more than a few past sexual partners, but
also please don’t be a virgin, and even more confusing to add, if you
suck dick you’re a goddess but if you don’t you’re childish.
I know it’s all fun and games and there’s always the dude to comment
“It’s just a meme” when you call them out on it. That’s fine, but to
some it’s not just a meme. The girl who is wearing a wig may have
alopecia or just went through chemo. The girl who is too fat was
probably proud of herself earlier that day for losing 15lbs. The girl
that is too thin could be battling an eating disorder. The girl
wearing “too much” makeup probably has dreams to be a makeup artist. The
girl who doesn’t like oral sex may have a had an ex who pressured her
into sexual acts she wasn’t ready for. We all have a story. Some cut
deeper than others.
Men don’t know what it’s like to
be a woman and have our whole lives and bodies verbally and visually
ripped to shreds. It’s a shame that even some women seem to not know as
well. There’s not as much sisterhood as we would like to believe there
is when it comes to things like this because even we deal with a toxic
masculine outlook on certain things in our society. We call each other
sluts if we have multiple sex partners, but don’t bat an eye when a man
behaves the same. We bash each other for excessive use of makeup as if
most of us don’t have a makeup drawer or bag, and who really gives a
damn what someone else has on their head?
My point in all
of this is, If you feel beautiful wearing every single makeup item you
have or just mascara, I support you. If you want to play around with
Snapchat and take 32 pics of yourself with the teddy bear ears, I
support you. If you have weave in your head that’s past the crack of
your ass, I support you. There is no one way to be beautiful. Be as
extra as you want to be or be as natural as they come. If you feel
comfortable and beautiful that’s all that matters. Don’t let these
internet fuckboys who don’t even have the slightest clue of where the
clit is determine what your beautiful is.
I've mentioned before that I'm taking a short story writing class for the summer (gotta get this degree, son). Anyways, I don't usually like to post my stories because I plan on something big for them one day in the future. This week our last short story of the summer is due and I feel like this one is so silly and cute to not share. This short story assignment is supposed to be flash fiction with means around 750 words or less and I decided try my hand at formulism, which just means that the story is formatted to look like something else. For instance some ideas I came up with was to write a story that looked like a text conversation, a to-do list, or like a tweet or Facebook status. Ultimately, I decided to do a story in the form of an obituary of a spider that currently, and actually, lives at the stop of my stairs. So here's my silly story and I hope you enjoy.
*No spiders were harmed in the telling of this tale...yet*
The Life and Death of Itsy
By: Asia Anderson
Itsy started his life as a youngster in a waterspout. As he got older he
grew tired of always getting washed out. He soon found his place at the top of
a worn-out staircase. A summer home that Itsy thought he could call his own. A
frequent creak from anonymous feet would sound from his staircase. An
unexpected roommate who Itsy thought he’d hit it off with right out the gate.
Itsy was the type who liked to be alone enjoying the space that would
unfortunately be his last home. He spent his days being what most would call
being a normal spider. He prided himself on being the peaceful kind and not a
fighter. Upon the top of the staircase of his very last summer he had more fun
than most with his web when he spun her. In her he caught all sorts of pests.
Ants and flies he gathered them all for breakfast. There were some left over
for lunch and dinner too. His roommate was even so kind to throw him a few. As
soon as it started summer was ending. This summer home Itsy thought was time to
stop renting. His meals were starting to become too few and so it was time to
look for somewhere new. As insect Armageddon was coming to a close he
unfortunately met the bottom of his roommate’s soles. See, his services were no
longer needed and with the whack of her shoe it was as if she stampeded. Itsy
the spider will be sorely missed and all who loved him would want his family to
persist. For this lovely creature no services will be held because with his
body his roommate expelled.
