Upon the night the poet writes,
within my darkened room
under candlelight all is revealed.
From my ink comes black and blue, with bruises from my passed I stain these walls.
Memories never leave me,
pain and suffering is like a
shadow always following me.
Writing is a release, a bandaid
to help me heal.
These emotional hills are a
struggle to claim, but I grew bat
wings so watch me fly.
©️ 2021 By Amanda Shelton
Nov 19, 2021
Nov 19, 2021 at 8:35 PM UTC
Upon the night the poet writes,
within my darkened room
under candlelight all is revealed.
From my ink comes black and blue, with bruises from my passed I stain these walls.
Memories never leave me,
pain and suffering is like a
shadow always following me.
Writing is a release, a bandaid
to help me heal.
These emotional hills are a
struggle to claim, but I grew bat
wings so watch me fly.
©️ 2021 By Amanda Shelton
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