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
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

-Asia Aneka Anderson, Untitled 2018©

What's The J Stand For?

It’s all fake news
Media to blame
The so-called experts
But not I

Massive crowds
The crazed lunatics
Horse faced and third rates
But back to me

An inept disaster
Might possibly be a SCAM
A complete and total fraud
I can’t help myself

-Asia Aneka Anderson, What’s The J Stand For? 2018©
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.

My Nugget

        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

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

-Asia Aneka Anderson, Blowing Smoke 2018©
"Below A View" 2018©
Photo: Asia Aneka Anderson

Tragic Best Friend Tales #4

        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.

- Asia Aneka Anderson

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: The Fuckboys Are At it Again

        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.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2018©

Gonna toy around with some self publishing to see how it works and how I like it. Here’s to the future.
Twitter: AsiaAneka

The Life And Death of Itsy

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.