Category Archives: Poem of the month

A poem written by me.

I am not as interesting as I seem: poem


I am not as interesting as I seem:

Once I believed that I was funny, kind and that people found me interesting

But you have set the record straight.

I can never forget what you taught me.


What I had mistaken for leopard print was merely poke-a-dots.

My child like ways, simply childishness.

Compassion as weakness.

In the end, even the sound of my voice made me think I had done something wrong.


So now that you are gone, why do I still hear your voice?

Why do I fear what others will see in me?

What if they see what you saw?

Will they feel the same? What if you were right?


I don’t believe the things that I once did.

I get tired of fighting your voice in my head.

Because some part of me believes you;

Believes that I am less than ordinary.

A crow among nightingales.


Amanda C Nov 2012





Sitting on my swing- poem


  1. Sitting on my swing:

    I had wings once,

    Stubby little things with no feathers,

    But they grew, a little stunted.

    I stretched and flapped, refusing to be flightless.


    For a time I knew the sun, the wind

    But I never trusted those wings.

    I feared they would falter,

    And somehow bring me back to earth.


    Surprisingly, it was not my wings but the sun.

    I forgot  it can blind you.

    I hit a wall, repeatedly until I had no strength to try again.


    For a long time I was content to be broken,

    To suffer and forget about the sky.

    Part of me believed this was the inevitable price of dreaming

    Dreams I was never meant to have.


    Now, I sit in my cadge and people call me a survivor and inspiring.

    They think I have persevered beyond my handicaps, limitations and self-inflicted harm

    But they are wrong.


    If they only knew how it hurts to breathe, remembering.

    How the sweet voices encouraging me to raise my twisted wings

    Only serve to remind me of the carelessness that got me here.


    How long will I stay safe in my cadge?

    My heart still remembers, still longs to fly.

    But I do not have the will to believe in second chances.

    And my heart curses me for such a selfish betrayal.


    AC Nov 2012

Trust: poem


When did I first learn not to trust you?

Was it an unanswered cry in infancy?

A tearful, childish night I was sent back to bed without a hand to hold?

Or was it the nights I listened to stories yelled through the walls,

Shattering my illusions of home?

Was it the first time you doubted my judgment?

Pointed out how my “methods” needed improvement,

How different I am from you?

Or was it when you decided I wasn’t worth the sacrifice of anything to be in your life?

Was it when I realized that little girl still lived inside me?

That I had not managed to kill her with my rationals and coping mechanisms?

When you still loved those that failed to take care of you?

When you loved someone who could not love you in return?

I don’t remember. I only know that I want to try again.

Amanda C 2012



There is a crack, a tiny hole in the once impenetrable walls.

And though the guards have not noticed and the king sits calmly on his throne,

The engineer is worried.

Silently he measures, calculates and waits.

Waits to tell them the inevitable truth, a truth they do not wish to hear:

The structural integrity has been compromised.

It sounds cool and calm but in his mind he is really saying:

We’re fucked.

One day- not right away, the wall will crack and then crumble

And eventually fall down, all because of that tiny hole.

How could this happen? He had been so vigilant, planned and tested it a thousand times.

Maybe it was the foundation or the mortar

Or an unforeseen wind or movement of the ground.

Be that as it may the whole was there and no amount of plaster could cover the truth.

The wall would fall and they would be left defenseless.

ac 2012




I have traveled so far out into the ocean that I cannot find the land. I have forgotten the path my heart used to know, the light that guided me through the vast darkness.

I swim on endlessly, not knowing in which direction I travel. No compass star light the darkness above me, no patch of land provides me rest.

And still I  wonder…would I rest if grace afforded me a place? Would I follow if the stars were bright above me? I think not. I drove myself into these deep waters, I ran from all I knew.

Who am I to lament my choices, to change my mind.


ac 2012

The shutter


I am breathing again…but only as such.

My heart shutters and tries to rouse itself from this long sleep

But my will casts the spell to keep it dormant.

I fear my heart, I fear being alive.

Learning to accept joy, trust and love again.

I know the spell I cast cannot last.

I feel my heart stir no matter how powerfully

I speak the words to silence it.

One day I will wake and find myself again in the world of the living-

Trusting some part of myself to another.

But for now I stay safe, I stay asleep.

AC 2012



I threw my life on the ground and watched it shatter.

In a single moment everything, everything that I knew changed.

I raged, wept and futilely tried to put the pieces together.


I do not remember the moment I realized that my hands where cut and my blood dulled the once bright edges.

I put the shards down and backed away.

From a distance I could see the irrevocable change

But my hands still reached out.

Sheer force of will and the desire to heal stayed them time and time again.


Now a few scares stretch as my hands move once more towards the pieces.

Instead of seeking to replicate what once was, they nimbly dust and wash each;

Looking for the qualities that only it contains: a color, a shape or curvature.

Carefully I lay them out in the mud of this new life.


I am unsure how one piece will sit next to another: if the edges will combine to please the eye,

If the colors still compliment in this erratic new state.

But as each piece finds its place I see the whole better, I trust the wisdom of my hands.

It is not the piece I set out to make, not in its function or form

But it is stronger and more beautiful for the breaking.

AC 2012