they said the clown was sorrow-shaped.
so I looped up in greasepaint—
swallowed a sunbeam,
coughed out a smirk,
and called the ache comedy.

somebody whispered
i fear the bruise.
nah,
i catalogue it.
line breaks for scars,
syntax for shame,
run the hurt through a voice modulator
’til even god can’t tell if i’m praying or riffing.

i’m not dodging the wreckage.
i just built a couch in it.
named the crater: “home?”
drank laughter from a cracked thermos
and kept warm in the glow of a rerun i never starred in.

i’ll play the ghost
if the script pays in quiet.
but don’t staple my name to your healing
and call it holy.

the truth?
clowns rot too.

some nights
i wanna peel off the latex,
lose the joke,
shave the wig,
and just exist—
not perform pain
in a dialect
you can quote later.

When I take my last breath,
I will fight to be free.

I will struggle with every gasp,
I will drag my strife behind me
tired and wrinkled
even in dusty ruins
I will bare my chains,
in between the teeth of angels
they will break for me.

To set myself free
I will break the boundaries
of my imagination
to see all possibilities
ahead of myself.

In between the teeth of angels
lay heavenly possibilities
and beyond the horizon
dreams await me.

©️ 2025 By Amanda Shelton

We used to talk about
going
to Montana--escaping it all,
building a log cabin and
making a garden.  We were
going to hunt and fish for
food--make rugs and
hats from the fur.

But look at us now.
You live in the
city and drive a Volvo.
Goldfish in a glass bowl.
You even taught your
cat to walk on
a leash.
Can you see the
sky with all the smog?

I'm not any better.
Living under the bridge;
the only hunting I do is
for cans, the rare and
illusive
aluminum nickel, so that
I can buy *****.  

I walk down to the
river's edge and look up at
the expansive sky.
I close my eyes.
And when I open them, baby,
we're in Montana.

the night pressed in,
heavy and mean,
the way it always does
when you’re sober long enough
to feel everything you’ve been running from.

i sat in the kitchen,
a cigarette burning in the ashtray,
the smoke curling up
like the ghosts of all the things
i used to believe in.

there was a cockroach on the floor,
big, slow,
moving like it had seen worse days than me.
i thought about smashing it,
about what it must be like
to live your whole life
dodging shoes and poison
and still keep going.

but instead,
i opened the window,
watched it crawl out into the night.
then i crushed the cigarette,
and thought:
maybe that’s all there is—
just figuring out
who’s worth saving.
and hoping someday,
it’s you.

I do wish we hadn't met actually
I don't want to ache like this
Because of you I know things can be different,
And it's me who sits around complacent
You made my mind feel young again
And I had the audacity to wish

I dreamt of airplanes, and long drives through the states,
Coffee dates in the morning, every night staying up to game.

I pictured a wedding! One where I say I do.
That would have never happened if I never came across you.
I'm dissecting my feelings, which isn't unusual to do, but I'm doing it from your perspective, and you'll never know so *******.

If I never knew you I could have just stayed on my path, not wondered what different, gentler things could be like,
Because I'm not destined for that.

If I only said "Hi" and went on my way, not giggling at your texts each and every day,
Would I be arguing with myself unjustifying reasons not to stay?