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S K Anderson Mar 2021
now I am unafraid

I have always been the last to leave
I’m counting down the days

green water rises
pulling me beneath

for a moment, I can see the stars
for a moment, I can breath

now I close my eyes
and see the world and sky collide

here, I find myself falling again
into sorrows, into depths
I wrote this nearing the end of quarantine. The third in a series of three.

All rights are reserved by the writer, S. K. Anderson.
S K Anderson Mar 2021
for fear of feeling full

I’m wondering and wandering
my building’s full of ghosts

I convince myself I like it here
I try I sigh I do

the emptiness still falls
from the walls of my room

I am angry
I am restless
I am lonely
I am “full”
I wrote this in the middle of quarantine. The second in a series of three.

All rights are reserved by the writer, S. K. Anderson.
S K Anderson Mar 2021
and in the dark
hoping that my emptiness
will both set me and tear me apart.

it is not sweet, but it is clean.
a harsh cleanliness only found in extremes.

and I wallow there, like a bird on a stone
watching his brother be cast down

I am afraid, I say.
afraid still
that in all this time I have yet to feel

may god bless you,
and god curse you

though I know he never will
I wrote this at the beginning of quarantine. The first in a series of three.

All rights are reserved by the writer, S. K. Anderson.
S K Anderson Jan 2019

It’s little more than a quiet thought.
The impending feeling that the loneliness
was a creation of my own imploding self-conscious.
I wouldn’t have hurt you voluntarily,
so what outside force could know my mind so well?

It’s little more than a spoken word.
The rumble of the oncoming storm could be felt
from as close as 1.6 miles away,
where the darkness of your room invaded the
not-so secret spots of your heart.

I’m prone, to the truth in your words.
I’m not used to the idea of confronting my thoughts
And sorting them out to you.
Is it that I spoke wrong words? Or I stopped before they meant anything?
You mean so much, and now you are out of my reach.
I did the first two stanzas and Austin did the third. I really like it, it's the first poetry collaboration I've done.
S K Anderson Sep 2018
Every first time is first done slowly
and then like it's your last.
And when the words tumble out of my mouth
like a whispered avalanche,
It's all I can do to pray
you'll say it back.

But first you stare.

My mind goes a thousand different places,
revolving around the axis of rejection
strung by your silence.

It must be only seconds but it's stretched into
a quiet forever inside my mind.

And when you kiss me instead,
it doesn't calm my fast-paced heart.
That is, until you pull away with the words
close on your lips.

I love you.
Those three words have never made as much sense as this moment.
I rarely write love poems, but what else can a poet do when their heart is this close to exploding?

S K Anderson Aug 2018
When the lights begin to look a bit like roses, you know you're in for a trip.

The challenging nature of my bones begins to melt away, leaving only the part of me that wants to paint pictures and tame hearts.

My mind is only occupied by the thought of your hand in mine and my only wish is this moment for the rest of my life.

Maybe it's unusual for me.

But I begin to feel that you're my manifest destiny.

And the soft wind and cool-aid sky only add to the idea that my heart is one moment from exploding.
I swear I wasn't on drugs.
Though the soft summer light is a bit of a drug to me.
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