Your body is different,
The way you talk is different,
Your opinions are different,
But your soul is the same.
Ours met before
Without our knowledge.
It was our “first time” again!
We exist for each other,
While abandoning our bodies.
There’s the inevitable connection
Between our souls...

I was born a poet,
with a pen in one hand
ideas in the other.

I am also, an artist,
with paint running through
my veins, and a bigger
picture mapped out in
my brain.

Its a big responsibly,
my birthright is to
be a philosopher.

I love learning and sharing
the knowledge.

Philosophy is simple, but the
concept is complex and diverse.

It can be a river of flooded
concepts, rooted in historic
preservation of ideas.

Philosophers like myself
preserve the ideas of its
concept’s and diversity.

Faith keeps my interest free
and unchained by societies
views of how life should be.

I knew early on in my life,
I am the master of my own destany.

©️ 2021 By Amanda Shelton

Drown my sorrow in cups of tea
The only place I want to be

The overflowing heat
Melts away my fears
Only for a moment though
Until the cold sets in
Adheres

Anxiety can crawl back in
Hidden in the snow

Unnoticed

Alone

I feel alone


So I make another cup of tea
Alway in my favorite mug
You see
My body craves routine
It sets my mind free

Camomile, mint, jasmine, chai
Whatever the flavor,
Always by my side
I promise I will savor.
The moment my anxiety was shoved
Outside

your words pervade
aromatically over
my defensive shell,
  gradually releasing,
relinquishing each imprint
of resistance
         as I unclench,
embracing you
in hopeful sips,
thirsting
  for nourishment
         your morning rain
splashes upon fluted lips,
my tulip soul soaking in
translucent song

your fingers splayed
    through silks,
unadorned by fear
ornamented by
                 your grace
sunlight burns through
my facade where residue
of past anguish once held sway

    fingers lift my chin,
gingerly, to your face,
while you listen
  pressing your heart within
my gypsum, solidifying
these pliable impressions,
confessions shared openly
restoring faith toward trust

the violent knot at the bottom of my stomach
it taunts and teases
it knows of
second best and last choices and too many chances given.
the lump in the back of my throat knows of
things left unsaid or worse - unheard.
and my lungs rendered weak from use gasp again.