Tatter tatter, tatting my life,
like fragile lace I am made from
thin threads of memories and trauma.

Tug tow and pull, on my life as
I write my designs exposing
my frade and fragile times.

Here I feel free, a place
to spread my wings.

I will never forget my struggles
for they are important.

Tat tat tattered, I am made
like that.

Sewn by scars and wrinkles,
as I grow.

Like old blue jeans,
I slowly fade into gray
fragile threads loosen
at my ends. Unraveling
my experiences
like used blue jeans.

©️ 2024 By Amanda Shelton

My tears are witness to my sorrow,
my suffering flows like a river.
It pools at my feet and I drown
for a moment within its fluid of
moving emotions.

Like paint, my tears artfully express
the pressures that try to compress
my life into a singular point in time.

Trauma defines nothing of my life for I am more than
my strife and I know how
to fight and rise above
my ruins.

My tears are witness to my struggles, my strife cuts me
like a knife and I bleed.
It pools at my feet and I heal
slowly as my pain gathers
at the surface.

This life is a tapestry of moments, sewn together
with scars and memories,
my experiences is
my unique design.

My tears are witness to
my forgotten dreams.

Now you witness me
drinking my pain,
its in my words that
I am throwing out
into the world and
here I share my suffering.

I sing in my soul of clear
days and starry nights,
of better times heading
my way.

Here I float on words
sailing on my tears,
I'm heading your way.

My tears will be witness
to my peace once again.

©️ 2024 By Amanda Shelton

The agonized grimace makes me think
death is deliverance.

No more suffering
the torment of hunger
sores and scabs
kicking, beating, stoning
burning in blazing fire
freezing in numbing chill.

I offer the selfish prayer
more for own comfort
it's all passing into
the kinder kingdom of God.

Life goes on
the living barks as usual
and the warm sip redeems me.

Only, the surround is a sound less.

when the pool is disturbed
and the ripples multiply

that's where songs are forged
- the words written.

Can you say my name one more time?
Softly, like the fog in the early morning
I just want to see if it still gives me goosebumps
Can you tell me my favorite color?
Quietly, like nighttime rain
I just want to remember how it felt to be remembered

What could I do to take your pain away?
You counsel others, but it’s yourself you’re talking to.
I see you nervously fiddle with your wristband--
I’m pretty sure I know what you once tried to do.

I wish I could share my healing skills--
there’s no one whom I want to help more.
But we’re far apart. It’s me who is helped by you.
Someone else must unlock your secret door.

Freud once said: It is love that cures the patient.
But can we truly love at will?
Take the love that’s freely given,
and banish what has made you ill.