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