It Was the Water’s Fault
Anastasia Wolfe
Table Of Contents
When I Write
My Pillow Kicked Me Out of Bed
What Is Love?
You Could’ve Seen Me If You Wanted Amicy
Two-Thousand and Twenty Cheers!
Peace and Tea
One Last Request
I Lost My Back for You
Where Did the Color Pink Go?
A Sleepover With A Book
Why Didn’t You See Me?
How To Write Your Essay
After Royal Blood
It Was the Water’s Fault
When I Write
When I write, I need to pull the covers over my head. I need to get lost in a new world. And book a room in whatever house my characters live.
I need to blast music and Almost make my world go deaf. I need to soak in my ideas. And lock the door to my room to keep the outside winds out.
When I write, I disappear. And make no promises to send a postcard.
I get on the boat and set sail.
I don’t look back.
I don’t book a return ticket. I get lost. To find something new.
My Pillow Kicked Me Out of Bed
My pillow, in the shape of the classic and loveable Eeyore, decided to be nice and kick me out of bed today. He, the blue pillow with his cute silly grin and my stolen heart, didn’t care to apologize when he sent me overbroad I sorely went Thump! He happily went Opps! I got upset, threw a little fit, and then let my parents know what my mean pillow had done. My mom asked if I was okay, and my Dad just laughed, saying, “That’s what you get with a donkey in your bed!”
What Is Love?
Is it like you’re giving someone a special gift, all nice and wrapped in a heart-shaped box with pretty ribbons attached?
Or is it like your first kiss? Where you’re first in shock, then you’re telling your heart to behave before it embarrasses you in front of your high school sweetheart?
Can it be the blanket your mother sends you when you’ve gone off to college, in hopes of giving you a never ending hug whenever the homesickness sets in?
Could it be the Doordash she sends to make sure you stay well-fed and happy?
Can it be the way you look at yourself in the mirror, hidden in the words you say that trick you and your self-esteem?
Is it a poison or scar you won’t forget?
Is it buried underneath the ground with someone you once held near?
What is love?
I can't tell you that.
What is love?
You must find it for yourself.
What is love?
You tell me.
You Could’ve Seen Me If You Wanted
After Marcus Wicker’s “Love Letter to Flavor Fav”
I was there in that sea, roaring with your fans, screaming and crying for you
I was closer than others, a few seats nearer and a few bucks more broke, the price to pay to see you so close.
You walked by. I saw the green of your eyes, the vivid pop of color in the mint and black you wore. The little curls in your hair you cut short, I saw bounce when you danced.
So close, as you walked by in style, you were to me.
If you wanted, and really looked, you could've seen me, in the same way I see you.
Amicy
After the Dictionary of Obscure Shadows
So. You’re trying to look through my front door? Trying to figure out what key I used to enter my home after a long day's work? You want to know what I do when I’m free? When I’m not behind a desk, typing away at my work in hopes of getting a good grade? You want to know what makes me smile? What makes me laugh, dance, and not feel so alone? Don’t worry, you can ring my doorbell, but I probably won’t answer. I’ll be looking at the same door too, but from a different angle. I'll be fumbling with the keys that unlock certain parts of me I don’t quite understand yet. I’ll be flipping through show after show, clueless as to what to watch that isn’t on my computer screen. I’ll try to find a funny joke, a good song to jump to and dance to. I’ll debate for a while on if I’m stepping into the right house or got the wrong address to my social life.
Two-Thousand and Twenty
The day Covid came to town, I only had to spend half a day in school. After the announcements, I was ushered home, bedridden from the world.
The day Covid decided to stick around, I was happy to be at home in my pajamas all day, and to have gained an extended summer vacation.
When Covid decreed the world wasn’t safe, I had become afraid of its growing hunger to take life away. I looked at my bones, and hoped if it ever caught me, I would be too skinny to serve its appetite.
When Covid locked the world down, I watched as people tried desperately to find the key. I stared through my window with invisible bars, wondering if things would ever be the same.
When Covid became a wanted criminal, I listened as the world started pointing fingers. I looked at my own thin fingers, curious to know who to blame in this round of the Blame Game.
When Covid finally decided to settle down, I had already kissed the old me goodbye. The day I returned to school, I thought of the lives lost.
When Covid was conquered, I heard no cheers. I only heard we’d need to tread the future more carefully.
When I think of Covid now, I know it’s still here.
I know it holds no remorse for the damage it’s caused.
I sigh, hoping that all the lives that were lost are in peace elsewhere now.
Cheers!
Cheers to you, my special friend! You’ve come such a very long way from where you started.
I know, you’re getting ready to look towards the future, but spare me just a moment. I want to look at your past and celebrate the moments that got you here today.
Almost twenty years ago, you were born.
Your mother and father rejoiced, excited to see you grow.
Ten years went by in a blur, yet that time was not a waste, or forgotten. You scraped your first knee, lost your first friend, and fell in love with your first prince.
You were told by a girl who was jealous you’d never grow, that your beauty and self-worth were invisible, and made your parents upset to see their baby girl so blue. It made them preach louder of how special you were, and that no mirror defined who you were.
Two days ago, you were told you were pretty, And someone cute from your class got you a coffee. Since then, you’ve been dancing in the mirror, happy with yourself and your future.
Now, in the present, you’re just a few hours away from turning 21 and ready to sprout again.
You don’t know what’s next for you, but that’s okay. You’re happy and content and blessed.
Cheers to you, my special friend, you’ve come such a long way.
I can’t wait to see where you go next.
May kindness and love stay strong in your roots.
May you know just how much you’ve grown and will continue to grow as your story unfolds.
Peace and Tea
Every morning must start the same. Every morning, when my alarm goes off, I must wander in the dark to find my slippers. When my slippers are found, warm and cozy and just the size for me, I must follow the path downstairs. I must shuffle my feet quietly against the warm wooden floor, tracing the familiar steps towards the small dark kitchen nook. I must enter, turn on the lowest light, and then start my search for comfort. I need to open the drawers where my tea is stored. I need to heat the water to the perfect temperature with exactly two minutes pressed into the microwave. The beeping must be heard, and I must wait for my comfort to brew. When the recipe is done and cooked to perfection, I can hold my mug close. I can start to see the sun rise. I can cherish the first sip. I can start the day with peace in my heart.
One Last Request
When the sun finally sets, and my curtains are drawn, I’ll have one final request to remember my song.
Do not put me in a box, nor watch my ashes disappear. Go to where you remember me most, wherever I’ve placed my heart.
I may be lost in my books, or sipping my favorite tea. I may be in your laughter, or your tears, my spirit fierce as we dance in the memoires you keep.
You won’t need a map to find me, I’ll always be there when you need me. To hear my voice, to feel my presence, just remember where I’ve taken us. That is where I will be.
I Lost My Back for You
When I discovered you were missing, I threw my book behind me. My coffee, I happily forgot as I tossed on a pair of shoes that didn’t quite match.
Just as you did when you shot out the door, I leapt over the closed gate. It hurt when I landed on the other side, but not as much as the fear that was choking me.
I stumbled, I ran. I didn’t feel it when I overdid my fragile limits, and my back decided to run off on me. Just as you did when you sent your paws running into the woods.
I called your name. I thought I’d lose my voice because of you. I thought of the hole that would be left in me if you never came home.
For a very long time, I searched for you. It took longer than I’d have liked, but when you emerged from your adventure, I forgot the anger and pain you put me through.
I wrapped you in a hug, and you simply licked my worried and relieved face. You barked, telling me about your wild adventure. I said nothing as I limped us both home.
To recover my back, I had to go to therapy and take gross medicine. You stayed by me as I slowly recovered,
your eyes so full of love and mischief.
If you want to know a secret, I’d happily lose my back again for you. You’re worth more than therapy trips and bad medicine. Because if I really lost you, there wouldn’t be a cure to find me.
Where Did the Color Pink Go?
When I was little, pink was the nail polish my Dad would paint on my nails.
Pink were the ballerina shoes I’d wear as I danced around my room.
When I was little, pink would grow in the rose garden and sparkle in the tiara I’d wear. It was on my birthday cakes and in my favorite lemonade.
When I started growing, the pastels of pink disappeared. I started telling my Mom to stay away from the color, and that I wasn’t so little anymore. When I went to the zoo, the flamingos scared me away.
When I started growing, I dyed my hair in a different shade of pink, a pretty purple that now helps identify a piece of who I am.
Now that I am older, I can’t say where or why pink disappeared. I still catch glimpses of it, yet it’s the blues and purples of the night sky I’m drawn to now.
I don’t mind pink’s absence. I’m sure in the future our paths will meet again. For now though, I’m at peace with these new terms. I’ll see the color again in the future generation of myself.
If I’m lucky, I’ll paint the nails of a little me with the color. I’ll find the perfect rose to give her.
I’ll help her dance in some pretty ballet shoes.
I’ll take her to the zoo to see her favorite flamingos.
I’ll give her a special crown.
I’ll love her with all my heart, pink and overflowing with a mother’s never-ending love.
A Sleepover With A Book
Once upon a time, I had a sleepover with a book. I don’t remember what was in that book, or if I even enjoyed it very much. I do recall the hours I’d spent worrying though. The keyboard I madly pressed to create the sentences to explain that little book. The coffee that kept me company as it went cold. The lights going out early, and the crickets becoming my symphony. The bright computer frustrated me. Time escaped me. When I awoke, the keyboard was pressed against my face. My coffee cup was empty. My computer was just about dead, but I saw there was something keeping its screen alive. It was the letter that started the alphabet that made the sun rise for me that morning. I kissed the book that had turned my hair gray overnight and wasted my tears.
Why Didn’t You See Me?
The night I came to hear you sing, you failed miserably to see me. You were looking at other things, your green eyes quite invisible to me.
I saw what things were catching your fancy, the countless signs praising your name. I saw the flashes of lights, heard the screaming of girls, felt them try to reach for you.
I smiled behind my mask of disappointment as you walked past.
I sang along when you asked. I adored you like a part of one of your songs.
You walked past again. You failed again to see me.
My blue eyes sighed as your green gaze swept past. When your figure disappeared, I left your show.
Maybe next time, you’ll notice me. It would be nice if you waved at me, and maybe asked me my name. You wouldn’t miss me in your sea. You’d finally see how much you mean to me.
How To Write Your Essay
Every essay is the same.
It starts with an introduction. Then, it leaps through the body paragraphs.
It concludes with a silent round of applause that usually determines your grade.
Every story appears the same.
They start at the beginning, and then go through rising action to reach the peak. The action falls out before the ending is written, and the book is closed.
Every life is different.
They don’t always start the same.
The chapters within are each uniquely special. A different picture is painted through each pair of eyes.
When the end draws near, those eyes don’t close the same.
Your life is yours.
Your life can’t be lived by anyone else.
Your story can’t be written by a different hand.
Your journey can’t be followed exactly like a map.
Your life can’t be copied.
How will you transition the colors of your life to a page?
How will you describe your story?
What will your final essay say?
Where will you start?
Where will you end?
To say you’ve lived a life well lived,
what will you write?
After Royal Blood
The name I bear belongs to a tragic tale of a lost princess and her family that I’ve read in histories past.
As if I were the lost princess of Russia, I sit upon the downfall of their thrones. Dressed in a royal disguise, I watch the balls they once held, deaf to the music playing towards their tragedy.
I catch a glimpse of red hair as the princess swirls by in the Tsar’s waltz.
Her laughter rings out.
I see the hint of a child’s mischief in her blue eyes, blind to what steals her sight.
Her innocence turns to dust when the first bullet is fired. Her laughter is replaced with haunted silence when her crown starts to slip. When dangers draws near,
I watch as she’s taken away to her fate.
Outside their palaces, a war tears their land apart.
To keep her safe,
I listen to the lie that seals her fate.
I close my eyes to see the stairs she descends with her sisters by her side.
I sit in that room with them as their thrones disappear.
I wait to hear the screams.
A bullet rings out
The lights finally go out.
I bow my head.
I shed my tears.
When the lights return, I look to the ground. On my lap, I hold her crown.
I mourn a past now lost.
I have no gifts to show my grief.
My name keeps her heart alive.
My eyes understand the tragic lives lost.
After royal blood was spilled, her crown became mine.
It Was the Water’s Fault
When I took that first jump, I nearly gave my parents both a heart attack. When they asked me what I was thinking when I jumped, I simply giggled and said, “Blame the pool!”
When I took the second jump, my Dad decided it was time I learned to swim. But I already knew how to keep my head above water when I jumped, and when asked how, I simply said, “Thank the lake.”
When I took the third jump, I discovered I could get hurt and dragged out to sea if I wasn’t careful. When my Mom asked if I was okay after that jump, I wiped away my salty tears and sadly said, “The waves aren't my friends.”
When I took the fourth jump, my heart was drowned in a tidal wave of love. Now, whenever I’m asked where I can be found, I wave from the cool depths and happily say, “The water called my name.”
Author Bio:
Anastasia Wolfe is an undergraduate at the University of Indianapolis who is following her passion in writing.
Reflection Essay Rough Draft
I never thought I’d create a book of poetry. To be more specific, a book of my poetry. However, here I am now, after having written said book of poems, reflecting on the journey I was taken on that, much to my surprise, helped develop a soft spot for writing poems inside my little writer’s heart. It was very eye-opening to me, and I hope, through the poems I’ve written and experimented with, to share a little bit of who I am as a writer.
When I first began writing poetry, I had little background in poetry. I didn’t know the ropes of writing it, so when I first began the semester, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of coming up with my own poetry. I was very hesitant, and the inspirations behind my poems came from prompts from my classmates. When choosing what prompts to craft my ideas around with, I went with the ones I was most interested in and encouraged me to write. The prompts that most intrigued me helped me brainstorm what I was going to write. After selecting what prompts best suited me, I’d think and wonder what I’d write. I created a little routine in the process of writing, and when I picked an idea to flush out, I’d also find a song I felt helped put me in the emotional frame of mind. When I was there and ready, I put my fingers to the keyboards, and more than a dozen poems later, here I am, composing these pieces into a chapbook to hopefully share with my peers.
Throughout the poems, there’s a mixture of narrative and personal writing that are reflected in my words. Many of the prompts led me to writing about true events I feel strongly about and was passionate to express about on the page. To help bring my feelings and ideas to life, I used strong imagery and figurative language. The formats of my poems jumped between prose and stanzas, which allowed me to compose my ideas in a variety of ways. When I used these elements, it made my poetry writing feel like I was writing a story, which is my preferred writing style. Because of this, my poems felt more engaging to write and compose.
When arranging my poems into the e-chapbook, I first decided what poems I felt most proud about and enjoyed writing. Not all of the poems I wrote are featured, and that’s because I feel those poems don’t reflect my best work. I picked the strongest poems, and after, went to revise them. I reflected on their messages again. The process of revision helped me see just how far I’d come in my writing. When arranging them, I put my favorite poem as the last poem in the book and decided to title my book after it. I tried to space out the poems and the different themes they have, which range in their emotional weight. Some of my poems, I believe, are emotionally driven, while others are more light-hearted, and so, I arranged my pieces that would balance those themes out.
In the future, I hope to continue writing poetry. I hope that some of the poems in this book can go on further in the world of poetry, and one day show up in a publication. The poems I’ve not included in this book, I hope to revise and share one day. I also hope I can continue to write about things I care about, and feel can make a good story.
