Who is a poet,
without their pen?
Our existence is on the page-
it is the stories in our head
and the words in our heart.

I pick up the pen
and I write
because I need
to bleed my emotions
on paper and sometimes I
write
just for the hell of it and sometimes
I write because I just need
to talk to someone anyone
I just need to talk.

black skies stretch
in darkness, the clouds
dissolve into rain,
the night is lacquered
with varnish like
a wooden floor,
shiny and surreal -

it breathes of night
bird and the magnolia
light of the moon, quivers
and then is still, wraps us
in the mirrored waters of the stars.

the moon elevates
the night from darkness to
hypnotic light, bathes
the world in silver, flows
with our tears and our
softly spoken words,

transcends like lazarus
to a sky witnessed
through centuries,
loved and worn like
our favourite old clothes.

I heard the angles calling,
I drowned the voices in a
slurry of precaution and shame.

No more worries, the doctor's
got the cure just drink it
up there's no hurry.

I suffered for their treatments
and child abuse.

Still, the shadows danced
across the wall my mind was
drunk off anxiety and
depression.

My dreams were reality but my
waking hours were all a dream.

Delusions and fantasy all
the same, until the fog lifted
me from the dream.

A little birdie brought me
clear skies and a deep simulator
that opened my eyes.

Now I live in the light,
six wire's are planted inside
my brain sending signals so
I can control my twitching
and contorted frame.

I am a bionic woman, living
no dream just reality.

©️ 2022 By Amanda Shelton

People ask me frankly,
"Why live as an owl in the night?"
I answer
You can see things in the dark impossible to see in the light

"Why sleep your days away?"
When you're awake, life only has one perspective, but when you're dreaming, perspective is limitless

"And why not speak your truth to the world?"
There is more to learn in silence than there is in conversation