As she approaches motherhood her back becomes an archway.
The primal sounds vacillate in your ears between pleasure and pain.

Screaming. Moaning. Screaming. Moaning.

Birth of her, birth of both.
You grasp frantic arms needing foundation.
She is an earthquake building a world.

Shaking. Sweating. Heaving. Lurching.

She is a temple now, focused and still.
Her skin radiates off your hand the way a sunburn feels.
Pulsing hot breath and waves squeezing through her.
You can imagine the cocoon inside her squirming as the butterfly pushes out.

The ocean flows out of her.
The room breathes for the first time like it too was under water.
You are pummeled with a tidal wave of joy.
This is how beginnings feel.

June 12th 2020
Amanda Powell

Fear is the root.
If it is the root it will destroy the whole tree, slow decay.
People will say, "such a shame, was a great tree."
You are hollow now...empty, safe.

Echos are the only thing you're filled by. You wince when they bounce around inside you touching parts not meant for anyone else.
You are surrounded by a forest, this forest is bigger and better than you, this forest is more alive, it has parts you can't see, which scares you.

Fear again, you mumble as a branch rips off like it's jumping from a burning building, plummeting into a pile of your expired leaves. No one lives in you anymore, squirrels don't even call you home, no one wants to be around the dying.

How could you have avoided this fate?

One action causes me to stand up, brush the dust off my lap and pick up a brick.

"I thought we were done with this?" I ask myself as I set the brick gently down, before I know it I have built the wall again. "There, there" I pat the wall and feel the resounding heart beat. "You're safe now."

November 30th 2017
Amanda Powell

Why do things we can’t eat still leave a taste for us?
After a meal, I keep tasting as the fork in my mouth leads to forking with you
The sweetness of marinating on the little things, the words once spoken
Kneading ourselves, hoping to grow into more

My insecurities gave you a sour look on your face,
Like you would spit me out, if you could, and try a different recipe
Lying awake I would chew on my thoughts, masticating until they resembled fears
Reasons to leave, not many to stay, indigestible truths we weren't able to swallow

Curdled plans that won’t come together,
Requests turned resentments,
Reheated arguments and palatable remorse
Finishing my plate but never fully satiated

Feelings and taste become scrambled together
I’m bitter about the lost time, your chair always empty
I’m reduced to a shell of myself, making meals for one but wishing to yield more
It all leaves a bad aftertaste as the tongue recoils and begs for a chaser

Amanda Powell
May 21st, 2020

The heavens are a puzzle that need to be solved
To get in, you have to prove you deserved it at all

You answer the questions you were asked all your life;
What’s the point? What’s it all mean? Was I a good wife?

The questions keep coming and get more abstract,
It turns out there are more things you chase than attract

If your answer is worthy you feel solar warmth on your face,
But if it is not, serpentine shaped heat rises from your base

You think it’ll never end, you think you will fail
But soon you see something rising in the pale

It’s different for everyone and from what you’ve heard too,
Because why wouldn’t heaven evolve just like you?

Your body is gone and you’re left with your soul,
You can see and move but not sure the control

“You’ve done it!” you think with excitement inside,
Now’s your truth, now it’s time, nothing more left to hide

You can relax in this new phase but it’s not quite the end,
For you never know what’s next around journeys bend

The afterlife is here but what’s after this?
“Shut up” you think, as you try to enjoy eternal bliss.

Amanda Powell
May 13th 2020

I’m afraid of ghosts...but not the kind you’re thinking of.
I’m afraid of the kind that haunts you.

The kind you left in past mistakes.
Mistakes that find reincarnation in my words.

I tread lightly or even back track when you hint that my words echo a past ghost I know nothing of.
I fear being part of your cemetery, where I’ve seen you tend the graves with regret and remorse.
I fear being one of your ghosts.

How do I change my words so they stop reminding you of someone else’s mouth?
Maybe we should make up a new language together because the language of love has hurt you.
It’s hurt you so many times that you’re afraid to speak it to me.  I only hear whispers of it, late at night after the sips take away the transparent ghosts and leave me with transparent you, I hold my breath, hoping the ghosts cannot hear us.

Let me be your exorcist.  Trust me with my words and feel them as if you’ve never heard them before.  Lean into me because, unlike these ghosts….

I am real
I am now and
I am steady.  

Amanda Powell
June 30th 2017

When people call me fun sized I don't know what to say.
Like if I was another size the fun would go away?

Some of my friends call me Nano, meaning very very small
A name I got in middle school and actually don’t mind at all

But this is because I own it and find it quite original
Unlike the normal comments that really aren’t forgivable

They say good things come in small packages but how can I know that’s true
When the world is full of big macs, and supersized taboos

Small things are always quiet, in corners or on display
I don’t want that fate for me, I’d rather be in the way

Making change is hard to do when adorable is your namesake
I’m activating feminist mode and trying to make an earthquake

No I don’t want to be your armrest, yes I’m tall enough for that ride
I’ll kick your *** at limbo, just watch me and abide

I used to wear high heels, to fit in with the crowd
Until a friend my size told me to embrace it and be proud

Now I wear flat shoes and am comfortable all the time
So when I’m kicking *** I can pivot on a dime

Sometimes my legs are tired from the height I’m trying to personify
So if you ask if I want a piggy back…that’s actually one thing I won’t deny

I like seeing it from your point of view even if it’s jaded
I do wish you could see it from mine though and find why my ideals have faded

“You’re cute when you're angry” they say, just like it's a compliment
But how would you feel if your emotions were reduced to words that aren't dominant?

When you grow up in a world where cute is your middle name
You don’t trust the ones that call you beautiful but who really is to blame?

Let alone if you ever hear “****” being said in your direction
Have you ever heard of a man getting a cute *******?

I’m ready for a shift and I can feel it in my bones
They’re aching to dance a new routine, with Beyonce in my headphones

Maybe that means they’re catching up, it’s about time for my growth spurt
After a life of half pint, shrimp and short stuff, watch as I convert


12/01/2016 Amanda Powell

Red flags in the beginning are easy to turn into little sticky notes, notes for later that sometimes lose their adhesive and fall to the ground much like my current tolerance for ****** dudes

The first known use for red flags was by the military to indicate they’re ready for battle, unfortunately I’ve seen enough red flags to start the next world war

I should’ve known
When I came back from Arizona and he said “you must’ve cheated on me because your ****** feels different”
Not because he’s insecure
or
because he doesn’t know trust
or
because he’s trying to assert control

I should’ve known
When he asked if I “had a problem getting wet because it seemed like that was a thing”
Not because he doesn’t know foreplay
(side note: **** doesn’t teach you foreplay)
or
because he doesn’t actually turn me on
or
because fun fact!- women can be turned on and not be wet

I should’ve known
When he said “if you shaved, then I’d go down on you 24/7”
Not because he was scared that choking on my ***** hair reminded him he’s with a real woman that grows hair
and humans inside her
and ideas
and opinions
and strength
and my body is not yours to give me ultimatums of

I should’ve known
When I asked if figuring out my pleasure was a burden and he answered “actually, yes it is”
Not because he’s too lazy to actually want to pleasure anyone but himself
or
because his only ****** education ended with a .com
or
because no one has ever expected more of him

I should’ve known when he said
“What I want out of a ****** partner is someone that wants me inside of them as soon as possible”
Not “inside my soul”
or
“inside my thoughts”
or
“inside my memories”
or
“inside an intimacy he will never know”

I should’ve known when he said
“Let me show you how Rachel did it”
Not “this is how I like it”
or
“can we try this?”
or
“opening your ******* mind to how another human being moves around you”

I should’ve known when
He spit on my ******, the universal sign for disrespect  
Like I deserve the same fate as tobacco swollen cheeks
Like my ****** is your spittoon,
am I the end of a tobacco session or a fancy wine tasting?
these things matter

Now I find it symbolic men are taught to spit while women are taught to swallow

Swallow our reactions
Swallow our feelings
Swallow our voices
Swallow his releases
Swallow his spit
Swallow us whole

When you see a red flag do not ignore that it means battle
This battle is not a healthy one, this battle will leave you bruised
Uproot this flag and take it with you to remind yourself
You can lose every battle and still win the war


11/28/2016 Amanda Powell

Today I ate war for breakfast.  

It tasted stale like old newspapers and when I bit down I heard a story that kept repeating itself.

I only eat it because I heard it’s good for me.  
“Most important meal of the day” they say.  
“Makes you stronger”

The sound of my spoon hitting the concave bowl like shots fired from a shaky finger,
unsure of the aim and even more unsure of the reason for the target.

By lunchtime I was hungry for more.  

I guzzled down a few hate crimes, they’re not the easiest things to swallow.
Innocent people don’t go down without a fight.  

I’m never sure why I torture myself with consuming all these things that are bad for me.  

“You are what you eat” they say.

Now I’m becoming ill from this junk food drowning in the pit of my stomach.  

I have to eat supper even though I’m afraid of what’s being served.  
Looks like it’s injustice with a side of inequality.  

My least favorite meal.

Tears march down my face following the fate of my food down the curve of my neck.
I feel nauseous from eating and guilty from being full.

That night I have heartburn like many nights before
but for the first time I smile.
Everything that was forced down from the day is
defying gravity,
defying the odds and
defying the evil so it can stay alive,
rise up again and eject from its captor.

I ***** war,
I ***** hate crimes,
I ***** injustice and inequality

They burn on the way up and they are not happy…….but I am.  

Every day we are fed news and are given a choice.
Will you swallow it down and let it pass or change the recipe and nourish the world?

Amanda Powell
1/22/2017