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  Aug 2016 elias

Opening my eyes,
I awake to the soft glow
of your morning smile

And as I wander
in your beauty,
where love surrenders
to each glorious sunrise
and butterflies dance
among the cool shade
caressing the ground,

I know this is where
I want to be,
  Mar 2016 elias
Ignatius Hosiana
There was a part of me that thought this
Could go on till infinity
A part that wanted to stay locked in your arms
There was a part that believed we'd always find answers
To always mend the cracks and keep enjoying the charms
There was that part that kept hoping above all hopes
That the heartbeat of our affection never stops
That part that endured the thorns of roses
And your conundrumous tantrums in doses
One that wished we wouldn't run out of second chances
It was responsible for all those backward glances
There was a part that believed would keep reigniting the spark
No matter how cold the shoulders you gave us*
*But then there was another that saw darkness in our spark
An end in our start,pain in our gain
And fatal loneliness in our company
That at her inception our love had died
There was that part that felt how breathless we were
One that saw us on feeders even while still on tar
A side that always knew we wouldn't last
A side I loathed and didn't trust
One that prophesied like all metals so would our passion rust
No matter how strong we believed that ours true it was
However hard we evaded the looming wars

And now there's this part, that sends voices
Through the cracks in the scanty shards
Consequent to your goodbye and other choices
That still believes in us,this part says we have to try
That even if it makes us cry
what are tears
but a colourlessness liquid that will dry?
This part wants another journey with you
This part doesn't know Alphabet, it places I right next to you
This part sounds quite convincing
I think all along you've been the something missing
Precedent to the hollow emptiness in my heart
Come back, let's hurt each other again
After all even apart I'm lonely and it drives me insane
And I get more mad seeing you wallow in the mire of pain
Maybe hurt is a constant but we can
introduce variables to outweigh the aches
Come back,stop asking why it all went wrong
We will never know, maybe we was too weak or strong
Can't stand my mind saying you're my Exe
While another part of me thinks you a part of me
  Mar 2016 elias
in still moments our souls
entrust us with thoughts
that open up a gate
meant to be kept hidden
until our bones are strong enough to carry the weight
that old lovers refused to take with them
like the disappearance of a father
leaving a little girl in constant wonder
in still moments we climb trees
and look out at the view that the veil has kept hidden from us
but they apologize with fragments of sunsets
in still moments we remember
we recall the laughter
we reread old stories
we try to make it seem as if it is all still so happy
in still moments
just before the noise and the motions return
just before reality walks back in
we pause
because sometimes in still moments
there is an unconstrained fear
and then
you wake up
elias Mar 2016
It's been a long time since I'm here

Maybe because you've been filling me up

And that you are my world

But, guess I'll be here more often

Since i've lost you again...
  Dec 2015 elias
When I sleep, I sleep
beneath a prowling moon
and howling stars. Old songs.
Barking dogs. Black nights.

When I'm awake, it's quiet.
I don't want to look in my eyes.
Mine shafts in hollow canyons.
Dark pools. Deep water.

Everything and nothing.
  Dec 2015 elias
The Girl Who Loves You

  Dec 2015 elias
When you are told you are not pretty:

Pretty is a six-letter word that can’t encompass your entire being in its arms. You were born to a mother who wore pain like trees wear their rings, as marks of fierce bravery and battle cries. You almost split her insides open coming out, wailing so hard the plaster cracked, but she grinned and bore it like a champion, even though the walls of her womb felt like one giant cigarette burn that no one cared enough to put out.

You are Icarus incarnate, with a body stitched from wings, flying toward the sun every day no matter how low the storm clouds hover. Pretty is not a synonym for learning how to put together a body that fights itself every day with pocket knives, like assembling letters to form words that flame in the mouth. That’s called survival. Pretty is an ugly word. It leaves behind a bitter residue that apologies cannot erase. Pretty is just an excuse for playing darts with a woman’s confidence.

When told you are not pretty, always remember how your body expanded to fit its widening cage, its blooming hips, how the growing pains were less like pain and more like cracking fault lines. How your body turned itself inside out and spilled over and over again. Getting emptied is not pretty. It is dark and wounding and it requires strength enough to move mountains.

On your worst days do not look in the mirror and call yourself pretty. Call yourself trying, call yourself surviving, call yourself learning how to get through a day, a week, a month or year. Call yourself still learning. Pretty is just six letters for lipstick, false eyelashes, combs for hair that never gets tangled, not for women who earn a victory every day just managing to exist.

When told you are not pretty, do not **** in your stomach. Pretty is a discriminatory word, but having a body that knows what it wants and gets what it wants is not a hate crime. It’s a healing hymn.

Don’t forget how trees shake their last leaves in winter like they’re shedding skin from the old year. Shed pretty. Shed it now. Teach yourself to replace it with heart-wrenching, brilliant, clever, artistic, unique, understanding, fighting. Always living.

When told you are not pretty, don’t fall in love with the ground. Get back up. This is not an apocalypse; this is not the end of the world. A six-letter word doesn’t have the power to burn down every building in site or freeze the entire world in epic proportions. Your body is not wreckage or refuse left over from a world on fire. Your body is just fine.

Look in the mirror. Tell yourself, Pretty is not me. Pretty is an ugly concept. I am more.
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