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Ileana Amara May 2020
someone in the room asked, "what is one thing
you would want to change about a girl?"
she turned her gaze, with a wine glass
wrapped in her delicate fingers,

"To be a woman."
her answer instigated the audience,
some stared at her, puzzled and confused
some who understood her,
looked at her intently intrigued.

"I sense a charisma of Athena,"
a witty man approached,
showing his well-sculpted physique,
"you're silver-eyed and daring."

she wasn't one for flattery,
"She's Helen of Troy,"
another man walked, cornering her
"bringing armies to heel with a turn of her head."

she flashed a daunting smile,
sipping the remaining blood red wine,
"I am no goddess, but a woman;
because to be a woman, is to be undefined."

IA
Ileana Amara May 2020
you write about the way it feels at the beginning,
like someone's airing up a balloon
inside your stomach
you write about urgency, that call across the wind
when you say his name
you become a scientist, a philosopher, an evangelist,
you theorize, you believe, you write:
"the universe recycles atoms and maybe yours and mine
were next to each other at the beginning",
maybe your collision was the Big Bang,
that kick started the entire universe,
maybe the stories are true
you write about the music
of suites and symphonies and operas
the notes that save your life
you write about when he looks at you,
it's the plucked strings of a guitar
the beating, resonant ***** in your chest.
you write about how you didn't want to fall
you didn't need anyone and you had plans
you were solid and unyielding and stable--
but he crashed into you..
and the world shifted under your feet,
you were Pangaea,
he separated you into continents,
you write about fear, and the warning signs
you chalk up to anxiety,
that inner sound bite you can't delete,
you dare to shout over it:
"I am -- brave."
"I am -- heartbroken."
here comes the letdown, the free-fall
of a thousand-foot cliff
all the way down, you write, philosophize, rationalize:
"The universe is moving toward entropy
so maybe we are an inevitable disorder,
meant to dissipate into nothing
"I do not/
am not matter."

Bang.

you smash into the ground,
you are blood and broken bones
heart in shreds, nothing catches you
you write: "If none of it was real.."
that dizzying drop, one second to the next
all in your head, you don't understand
and you'll try to figure it out, try to define
but it's all fragmented memories and crossed out lines
still, your hands will continue to type,
and through blurred eyes, you'll write.

IA
I dug upon my poetry journals and stumbled upon this one I wrote when I was fourteen.
Ileana Amara May 2020
maybe if I try to write,
I would feel sincerity again,
drowning into the pages and lines
of truths and fallacies,
maybe if I learn how to dance,
all doubts will shed along with pain,
maybe if I sing a song,
I can compose and express but not to please
maybe if I paint an artwork,
I would accept having you as my lovely subject,
in sceneries of memories, at the stroke of tender nostalgia
maybe if I interfere in the duel of both my mind and heart,
one takes over freely and I venture a new start.

but who am I to even stand armor-less,
battling against the uncertainties?

IA
Ileana Amara May 2020
write me a poem so deeply weaved,
sing me a song that I may learn how to live,
I'm torn in the war of both my mind and heart,
dwelling on the inked pages of crafted thoughts and art.

IA
  May 2020 Ileana Amara
John White
I just want it to end.

The hopelessness, the fear,
the constant critic in my head:
I've lived with them all for too long.

All I've ever known is this war, this endless battle.
There's nothing wrong with wanting it to end.
To wish that it didn't is cruel.

But why can't the best solution be the simplest?
Why do I have to keep fighting?

At times it's deafening,
and I'm so exhausted.

Why can't I just lay down in no man's land
and let this battle fall silent around me?

Why can't that be the end?

Because... I'll never know what's possible.
  May 2020 Ileana Amara
putiira
The only thing of value you’ve ever owned is now
and you keep trading it for the nothingness of yesterday
or the emptiness of tomorrow
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