Posted in 2015-2016, Arts

The Transformation Into Spring

By Kellie-Ann Morris

She was a tree, frozen in time
with a spine that once stood tall like bark.
But she succumbed under harsh winds,
bending in defeat,
bowing to the enemy,
hunched and ready to snap.

She was a bear, with a coat too light for the cold.
So she hid away
at the first sign of snowflakes  
in a nice cold cave
with only echoes to keep her company.
The cavern walls protected her from the world,

but kept her from exploring it.

She was a flower,
wilted by the weight of snow.
Her petals curled up, vibrant shades crumbling
into colors as dark as the sky without sun.

She was fragile, terrified, vulnerable.
She was stuck in an eternal winter
that was causing her decay.

The harmonious bird song every day
was her wake up call
to wage a war on the cold.
Tweets that delivered directions
to a better place,
gave birth to new beginnings.

So she migrated towards a land
where she could control the clouds,
and fall in love with the way the sun kisses her cheek
and vowed to never return to frost.

She melted the ice from her shoulders
with steadfast determination.
She gained the strength to be unwavering against all forces,
learned how to stretch out her branches
without worrying about how much room she took up.

Now she is spring.

Kellie-Ann Morris is a Freshman at Barbara Ingram

Posted in 2015-2016, Arts

Symptoms of Love and Addiction

By Kellie-Ann Morris

Nausea (known to me as butterflies),
shortness of breath,
sweaty palms (that you never mind holding),
and an accelerated heartbeat.

These are defined as symptoms of love,
but they are also signs of a panic attack.
I find that quite fitting
since I’m terrified of loving you.

While I’ve always admired the view
of firework kisses
and star crossed lovers
who find each other despite the darkness,

That’s not the life I desire
for sparks only last a minute.
True love kisses are deadly
and I don’t want to become another tragedy

Insomnia (losing sleep with the idea of losing you),
neglecting other responsibilities,
risk taking (always in alleys after midnight),
and obsession.

These are defined as symptoms of infatuation
but they are also signs of addiction,
and I don’t think I could handle
if you withdrew.

I never wanted the space between
your arms to feel like home
cause if you evict me
I won’t remember how to support myself.

The way I mourn the loss of your touch
and count down the seconds till you’ll return
proves that I’m already
hooked on the drug called love.


Kellie-Ann Morris is a Freshman at Barbara Ingram

Posted in 2015-2016, Arts

Forgotten Riches

By Kellie-Ann Morris

I forget to count my blessings,
pay more attention to what’s not there,
see the glass as half empty,
complain that it’s not fair.
I have a bad habit of underestimating
the value of fortunes in front of me,
paying no attention to their shine.
Privileges lose their glamour
because they seem immortal;
Thanksgiving reminds me that everything can rust.
It is an excuse to
consume copious amounts of food
and to put a spotlight on being grateful.
Before the holiday
I’d use my fingers to count off everything
I felt was missing,
forgetting I have
a shelter to protect me from howling winds,
shelves stocked with a variety of food,
friends who are willing
to hold my hand when it gets dark,
a mom who believes love
is worth the sacrifice, and
a sister who will always be my company.
Thanksgiving reminds me
to praise my forgotten riches.


Kellie-Ann Morris is a Freshman at Barbara Ingram 

Posted in 2015-2016, Arts

Autumn’s Travels


By Kellie-Ann Morris

Autumn has clocked in
taking shift,
filling in for summer has no more heat strokes to give
and winter winds haven’t gathered enough strength.
The season is a teenager
with frequent mood swings.
From misty eyed mornings
to bright smiles in the afternoon,
the unpredictable weather
leads to dress code confusion.
Despite the temperamental forecast,  
it’s hard not to admire
what fall has done.
Long goes the green,
as the fairies are busy painting leaves.
Shades of brown, orange, and red are periodically speckled onto nature’s canvas.
The wind is a tour guide,
pulling the leaves from their branches,
teaching them how to take flight.
Fallen leaves can be found
braided into hair,  
raked to make a bed,
and crumbled under careless feet.
Follow the leaf trails
into the forest,
see what paths you can forge
alongside the woodland creatures,
before winter’s touch destroys it.

Kellie-Ann Morris is a Freshman at Barbara Ingram School for the Arts