I am so ready for sleep. I kind of kicked ass today. And I really missed that. I also miss writing. So this is me trying to get in touch with words again. Fingers crossed.
04.30.21
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Author Archives: amanda
Cleaning Wounds
You should know
The things I do
Have a lot more to do
With cleaning out old wounds
Than they’ll ever have to do
With you
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|| cleaning wounds ||
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#cleansing #metoo #ptsd #awareness #abuse
#wordsofwisdom #healing #selflove #therapy #amandaxcoleman #amandacolemanpoetry #poetry
Deny, Deny, Deny
Is it not enough?
…The betrayal
…The exploitation
…The manipulation
What does is matter
Whether my suffering
Is visible or not
If you deny it
Either way
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|| Deny, Deny, Deny ||
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#suffering #metoo #ptsd #awareness #abuse
#wordsofwisdom #healing #selflove #therapy #amandaxcoleman #amandacolemanpoetry #poetry
Try to Forget
Melt
It’s Not You It’s Me
Written In Stars
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale.
And rise.
Fill yourself with love
As you feed your lungs.
Exhale.
Be still.
As you are vacant
Know the universe is in you.
Inhale.
Then bend,
So you don’t break.
Your spine can take the weight.
Exhale.
And let go.
Don’t carry
More than you need.
Inhale.
And hold on.
Your stronger now
Than you were before.
Exhale.
Then rest.
Renew yourself
To rise again.
Amanda.x.Coleman
Heal From a Place of Love
When my thoughts start to feel like they’re actually spinning inside my head is usually when I’m driven to the keyboard. I’ve been so reflective lately. Possibly a little emotional. I find myself to be consistently inconsistent, and honestly wonder how I function most of the time. And then in the next moment wonder how I’m realistically supposed to actively improve anything in my life this way. I feel lazy. I feel left behind. Maybe given up on. Like the missing daughter that’s never coming home. Not that I can blame them. I’ve set the bar so low.
I mean this line is like a moving laser. Too much. Not enough. Move. Don’t move. Sleep. Don’t sleep. Eat. Don’t eat. For the love of everything holy, body, please make up your God damned mind. I’ve changed my entire life to be suited to your fucking demands. No stress. Consistent schedule. Be a boring recluse. Don’t eat anything new or exciting. But pot. You can have lots of pot. But while we’re at it, you can only wear these clothes, use these products,wear this type of shoe, spend this small allotment of time upright, and this small amount of time with other human beings, or we make your life miserable. Deal? Too bad.
And I know they’re all excuses. I’m so tired. I’m in so much pain. I’ve lost my brain again. But they’re realities I have to contend with just the same. And some days it comes so much easier than others. Some days I can tune it all out like background noise. I won’t let this beat me. I’ve got this. Today is mine. Other days it’s all I can feel. All I can hear. All I can do to just exist. And there’s no rhyme or reason to which is which.
I know you’re not supposed to compare. That it’s all relative. But there are so many strong and resilient people with such worse circumstances and realities doing so much more. Why am I only so capable? Why am I only so motivated? What happened to the drive I used to have? The unwavering, stubborn passion of no other answer. Is accepting your situation the same thing as giving up? I used to be so much better at being uncomfortable. I used to push so much harder. But I’m already so tired. Burning the candle at both ends did me in. But now I feel about as burned out by being stationary. Is life really this hard to balance?
I’m so far from where I need to be. And I still have so many things I want to do. But I’m so disconnected.
I have been unfocused and unproductive. And I am in desperate need of change.
I need to learn to heal from a place of love. I need to learn to love my body into what I want it to be. Nurture it to capacity.
I need to do yoga.
I need to fuel my body purposefully and mindfully.
I need to meditate.
I need to create.
I need to write about what I’m scared to write about it and get it out of me.
I need to release the fear and hate that holds me back.
Abandoned Rooms
I am composed
Of mostly abandoned rooms
A few candlelit corners
And one oddly stacked library
The walls seem to have held
But each life time
Must have left
It’s remains behind
Filling abandoned rooms
With abandoned things
Baggage and memories
And whatever else
People leave behind
When they go…
Amanda.x.Coleman