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...
Ileana Amara Dec 2022
...
an ellipsis; three dots
to some, it is a pause,
others, a fragmented speech,
an omission of words

i find myself bemused...
how an ellipsis reflects my being;
a mystery difficult to be construed
for what is this ellipsis' meaning
but all the words left unsaid...

sincerely, ileana.
12.16.22.| long time no write & ironically, i come back with a poem about things left unsaid... i have never been fond of using ellipses, perhaps because i was always able to express how i feel but nowadays, it feels as though they seem to speak more than any language could.
Ileana Amara Jul 2021
love is the way
of the brave &
of the fools.

IA
07.01.21.| which one are you?
Ileana Amara Jan 2021
i walked into a place named 'love';
while i was young, naïve, and recklessly filled with wonder,
"heart is still fragile but let her in to learn", a voice said.

i stood in the middle, a little lost
"how did you know how to love?" i asked a passerby,
"nobody does, they just do", answered the creature,
and so i ventured the corners for a long time at watch.

"maybe we could venture it out together,"
young soul, those words made my heart flutter
like serendipity, it made living worthy and better
time flew with no end in sight to ponder;

and i believed all love was good,
but wrong ones end for good
"you love a little too much," was the reason
but is there ever too much or a boundary of enough,
for lovers to strangers is a miserable transition

"some people have to grow apart,"
and so i picked the shattered fragments part by part,
"i never knew young love has an inevitable end,
all i did was love, but here i am now, hell-bent."

"there's a sign at the front door most people ignore;
'right time, right love, before the right person',
but everyone recklessly walks right through, looking so sure,
thinking love is all good until the wrong kind turn them into fractions."

IA
01.14.21.| it's very random of me to begin again the efmh (excerpts from my head, echoes from my heart) writing series. looking forward to memories captured through writing.
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
Wrath is an ugly, chaotic beast we often refuse to unleash

It wreaks havoc underneath the devilish horns,
No one could tame it, nor a muleta in the owner's hands

From the depths of ourselves, where it quietly resides in the darkness
It often feeds on the dismantled version of our emotions,
on the distortions love caused about to our hearts,
on the insecurities and bigotries of this cruel world

Wrath chooses who tames it, who soothes its chaos down
It could be the devil's love who brings him back to his senses,
or the undeniable satisfaction of having caused destruction and loss and irrevocable regrets,
We often refuse to unleash the beast, because it often does what cannot be undone.

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
In an old bedroom filled with art,
I tied my hair up, willingly about to go through the boxed mementos.
A wave of anxiety and nostalgia crash over me,
like The Great Wave of Kanagawa,
while I stood idly framed by the large, cresting waves.

I was born the day I learned how to love,
and cursed when I learned how to feel things too deeply.

Inside the boxed mementos is a timeless tale of two distorted hearts;
Wilted flowers, photographs, old handwritten letters...
Do we box these memories in fear of completely forgetting them?
It was a ticket to a sepia-toned memory lane,
Engulfing my heart and soul,
with  memories that will forever be memories.

IA
Ileana Amara Jan 2021
a man appeared in my dream last night;
a kind soul and his features were clear,
a fragile heart tugged, i know i'm not his dear
i woke up, wanting to hold him tight.

IA
01.14.21. | it's a strange wonder.
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
There are two beasts that stood opposite from the other, with a line of silver powder before them.

Behind each, stood countless caressed demons,
Following and succumbing to nothing but to their Alpha alone.

The first has its own well-caged but running out of temper,
While the latter are tamed but enraged in pain from within
"Silver is a fancy thing that bounds us from chaos for the mediocre,"
An eye-catching glimmer came from the one who spoke.

"Boundary itself are constructs that only fuels chaos,
you burn and ache at silver because you think you would,
because you fear it, and so what you think...just happens."
With the last remark, the beast laid its bare skin and walked through the silver powder, "Silver is an armor, solely for those who can endure it."

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
Taking an alibi or two,
I let him take my hand for an escapade
Strangely excited of places with unknown routes,
"Let's get lost, let all your worries fade."

Just two lonely, young tourists visiting a coffee shop
Take a little risk or two,
and old souls slowly collapse their hearts' gap,
letting one heart drift into a free fall after the other, even without a clue.

Take a detour or two,
I fell for someone's chaos,
someone's scars,
someone's darkness,
someone's entirety of being.

The beach waves gushing back and forth off the coast,
someone stood as fairly as calm in the chaos,
mistakingly opening our deep past and wounds and stories,
He took my hand for love and misadventures.

IA
Ileana Amara Jan 2021
some concretes break,
for a wildflower to thrive.

IA
01.15.21. | there's beauty in the mundane. there's beauty in the broken places.
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
Everything we love slips like water.

Love is a fraud, anything that causes unpredictable distortions,
it takes no definite form nor extent, and it slips in our hands no matter how tight we hold onto it.

Like cold water against our bare hands:
it is soothing as if something we want to last the sensation of,
Like the beach waves washing over our feet:
it is euphoric and unforgettable as if we were both meant to find solace in the same places.

Like water that quenches our thirsty souls' dehydration:
it fills up the gaps in our bare beings with something better we never thought we could ever have before,
Like water as the universal solvent:
we either mix and complement each other, or dissolve the good parts left of us when we feel pain.

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
Coffee sessions at 0219 St. Café,
Past 4 PM in the afternoon,
Flipping the rattan-made tissue holder,
"What's our case for today?"

Hours would go on for stories and opinions,
About our lives we all have yet fathomed.

It would start with no "Hello's" or "Hey's"
But "café later?" and "No" wasn't an answer,
Friends exist to have your back,
and for coffee and life discussions.

In a slow yet seemingly rapid motion of time,
No more greetings or invites or even goodbyes,
the usual café across the street was taken down,
Before anyone knew, we were walking down separated roads, it was a slow fade.

A lovely, comprehending friendship and frequent coffees,
all wrapped up with an invincible quiet farewell,
Worse than a bleeding heartbreak without any anesthesia,
I hold my composure up for such bittersweet ruins.

IA
Ileana Amara Jan 2021
you may or may not find this,
in the middle of the night
or on a rainy sunday afternoon.

my mind runs rampant,
while my heart is still,
because i realized what love is
at the very least, a fragment of it;

love looks past flaws and chaos,
past the foreseeable risk & damage,
and i know i did amidst it all
leaving no room for me to regret.

i know i tugged your soul
towards a better light, a better day
because i stayed with you at your worst
and now remain bewildered when you say
you've changed for the better.

forgive a heart that wavered,
i used to think love is a home;
we always move someplace better
when all the heart feels is nothing but homeless.

i had to unlearn that.

to venture love as strength,
to lose and find oneself over
and over again & be better;
because lost is a lovely place
to find oneself,
and to begin again.

and as i bid you my final farewell,
i'd like to let you know
that i'll tuck the memories within,
hold them dearly and know deep in myself;
i have loved and i have no regrets.

and i will love again,
break again,
get lost again,
find myself & begin again.

IA
01.16.21. | there's always something new to venture in beginnings.
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
Befriend a devil, it would be the unlikely yet best cupcake in your pantry of memories.

Cupcakes are made from scratch, anything that comes in convenient
A devil may be, but they are made from power, vices, and flaws,
and they come in convenient too when you let your demons offer it with a cup of coffee.

A pantry of memories would be boring if you prefer it in monochrome,
Angels with pretentious halos, or Humans with humanity
but then they all left anyway, like how icings are scrumptious
but the cake batter lack one essential ingredient or two.

The devil's cupcake icing would be in dark hues, bittersweet but real
It would have probably lived itself in multiple attempts at life,
Drowning in vices, manipulating people, scarred of flaws, but then again real
Befriend and touch a devil's heart like you would judge the cupcake completely based on the cake itself..

If it is tamed, know that a devil wore power to mask its pains,
If it isn't, feel free to set aside such, along with the Heartless Creatures that grow horns for themselves.

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
With months of sailing on a sea of deceit, the Temptress accompanied a Pirate down to an abyss of the dark.

A Temptress who became the temptress and lured itself to heal the wounded eye of a Pirate,
who lost its compass and itself because of love.

"We're sailing for gold and more gold, until we run out of memory chests to place them to," said the Pirate
Falling to its words and deceitful half-patched eye, "All pleasures last so long as we venture what is ahead of us and not look back."
The seagulls squawked, "Abandon the heartless pirate,
Its own heart has long been stolen and never retrieved,

Gold and more gold are to cover up the paths that does only lead
To the Pirate's unrequited love quest, a lasting and soothing resort,
It seeks to feel belong and loved, even made a vow to change henceforth,
It's an endless cruise, down to the abyss of dark
Adrift with a Pirate who had nothing to lose, and a Temptress in pain who may have wished to disembark."

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
Four centuries of cursed existence, the Devil awaits to burn itself to death and be reborn from its ashes.

A hundred-fold of memories and relentless lifetimes,
Nothing is too beautiful in immortality unless one takes a break of Death and resurrect itself.

Decades of power, punishment, and misery,
The Devil soars above humanity, luring them into vices
His own self-consciousness could feed the approach of Death,
while the Devil himself starves for something he is not.

The Devil wove a nest of memories and resined it before winter,
He was life on earth, for all the demons escaped hell for it
The Devil was then the predecessor whom a woman loved,
Yet he burned himself and the memories to ashes, in exchange to recreate himself.

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
The Devil himself has a silver lining, just like every cloud does.

He wanders lonely, irrevocably beautiful if not feared for its horns,
As he was cursed to feel, and carry one burden after the other.

His existence envelopes an entirety of chaos,
Forced to contain an immense load of torment,
with which he himself is clouded with paradoxes,
seeking means for balance before he pours it out with thunder.

Sometimes the Sunset skies shove him away,
Independent of its tinged hues and beauty,
Yet when his time comes, he travels through the dark skies,
Scattering the delicate moonlight for those who feel the same way as he does.

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
Does a Devil ever calm down or it drowns in Iniquity as calm in the chaos?

A paradox it is, for a devil to pet its demons' wickedness,
Yet desires to find calm in the chaos, like heaven in hell.

Countless of unfathomed thoughts lay before me;
Would the Devil's predilection of calm be to reign in power,
or to be finally loved even after he unmask his unforgiving past?
Maybe the Devil tried to unriddle calm just like most humans do.

He would live in a doomed pit where regrets are frozen on loop,
Playing and wreaking havoc before deserving sinners,
To disguise its misery as death grip was self-destruction,
To forget love and vulnerability, was to forget calm and forget to have ever truly lived at all.

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
The Devil wears a condescending Crown of Aristocracy.

Behind the beauty of the aristocracy he led,
and sometimes romantic and eventful lives he savored,
lies a darker story: a legacy of deception, violence and unrepentant greed.

An aristocrat whose ground are his virtues and talents and pain,
Pouring one mischievous ingredient after the other,
All for a play of exploitation and influence,
The Devil has passion, but barely a soul, thus an erroneous aristocracy he rules over.

He was beautiful and ******;
Blemished in earthly pleasures and loss of his prodigious being,
The Devil lacked emotion and acted upon logic until he lost his heart,
His crown was adorned with half lamentation, half echoes of his past, out of dark menaces.

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
The real tragedy of life is when Light is feared.

Yet, it is a truth for most mediocre and perhaps philosophers;
There will always be solace in the darkness.

The Devil survived heartless tragedies and stories of the past he would perhaps rather forget,
Chained to rule on Hell as his demons struggle to suppress confusions and regrets and losses,
Distorted of his miseries manifested in his dark eyes,
He was once Light, sought after it, but never again.

We all desire darkness to succumb to;
When truths hit our eyes like a blinding light,
When our wounds have grown old but never healed,
When we lose a good part of ourselves over time, and we would rather not resort to Light and see it.

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
Ileana Amara Nov 2021
no matter how much
or whatever i use or do
to gloss over this restless grief,
all i could feel is this lump in my throat,
the simultaneous heaviness and emptiness,
and my crippled being hopelessly yearning
for your warm embrace as my grieving heart's rest.

IA
11.24.21.| they say grief is an indelible presence juxtaposed with the growing collection of things, but somewhere along those things, something feels missing; like a gaping hole in your heart longing for the things that will never be the same again.

more than a month has passed & some days, i still wish losing a loved one is just a nightmare i have yet to wake up from but i am wide awake, breathing alive but it's a slow death inside. i might get back to writing before this year ends, perhaps in attempt to save my life.
Ileana Amara Jul 2021
my pen was made
to bleed the words of grief;

"there's something so beautiful
and profound in grief
when you start to see it
for what it truly is."

past the barriers
and stretching distance,
i caressed my aching soul;
this grief of mine grew out of love

for grief, in what it truly is,
is a love that endures
and suffers willingly.

IA
07.31.21.| i'm so human.
Ileana Amara Oct 2021
how must i feel when the older i get,
"life is a suffering," is a belief harder to forget,
is this because i've looked in the eyes of death
and found such restful freedom
yet to turn everything i was, i am, and will be
into a mosaic, a picturesque, a fading silhouette.

IA
11.01.21.| few weeks ago i was deeply in love with life, maybe i still am but this grief is making its own home inside me; the paradoxical heaviness & emptiness existing simultaneously that i think of death as a restful solace.
Ileana Amara May 2020
beautiful, fleeting beginnings
collide two restless souls
to strip naked before each other,
****** manifests imperfection,
they were clothed with love
and when the time pass and it wears off,
two naked souls pick up its own clothes,
and unknowingly return to strangers.

IA
Ileana Amara Aug 2020
bedroom curtains drape before the sunrise,
as i long for catharsis and hope, not beautiful lies,
staring from the same corner with tired eyes;
some old wounds demands a grieving visit as time flies.

IA
Ileana Amara Jan 2021
i have left pieces of me to people i've loved,
i called it art; some remains close to me like home,
some are kept and never retrieved, relentlessly wandering ;
round and round in a museum filled of memories & history.

IA ☕
01.07.21. | it's been a while since i last wrote a poem past 3AM in the morning after having some coffee. here's my first poem for '21.
i also made a twitter & ig platform found at @ileanaamara_ , i'm planning to use it as a creative outlet of poetries, art, & spilled thoughts. although posts are yet to come, feel free to visit. :)
Ileana Amara Feb 2021
i know a tragic poetry;

two souls met and burned together
for each other and for the world,
fate blew the flame and then
they parted as strangers.

IA
my head wanders to unfathomed depths sometimes; and all it takes is one name that subtly crushes my soul in misery.
Ileana Amara May 2020
people possess three things in life:
a shield, a heart, and a dagger

a shield for the logic,
a heart for the soul,
a dagger forged by the strength of emotion,
unbeknownst to many about its origin.

people used these three things,
a dagger to protect oneself from this cruel world,
a heart to beat its rhythm of existence,
and a shield to ward off the weapon from wounding and distorting a heart.

why do we need a dagger?
it takes two to tango,
it takes chaos to begin chaos.

people wander relentlessly,
breathing, and existing and loving,
until a dagger pierces through,
leaving an open wound,
and a weapon sharpened.

little do we know,
the closer the proximity,
the more ideal love gets,
the lesser we see it coming,
the lesser we forget,
a shield is used to protect a soft, beating creature.

from an open wound,
and sharp weapon,
the cycle of chaos arise,
few people heal,
multifolds stab another heart,
"perhaps there will always be another heart to break."

one polished its shield very well;
the logic and knowledge
choked a heart to non-existence,
there was nothing left to stab,
there was nothing left to feel.

one stood with a wooden shield,
a state of balance within,
of calm and chaos and fear
to wound and lose its heart,
and be forced to survive with a dagger.

the pandemic goes on,
perhaps only until the daggers cease to exist,
soft creatures cannot battle with a heartless one,
it can only tame a while, until it becomes distorted and heartless too.

the pandemic weakens
when a wounded heart heals,
not because of the shield,
not because of time itself,
but because it's a wonder: some hearts can never be irreparably broken.

IA
Ileana Amara Jun 2020
my poems sway of love, tragedy, and growth
and at most times, you tug me into undead thoughts

a moment to reminisce into a play of illusion,
we sat across each other, making the most of there is
your existence, your memory forms a remarkable fusion
you're a masterpiece sitting before me, a view I long to seize

you were a nostalgic daydream from the past,
you held my hand, captivated my eyes, with a spell of love you cast.

you were there before me, alive in a memory and illusion
slapping myself back to reality; you're undead but gone and changed
I am haunted by a romantic, untold tale that left me estranged
this is a play of illusion, nothing but a subconscious' work, I stare at the empty space, reaching a dead-end conclusion.

IA
Ileana Amara Apr 2020
A quaintrelle's heart is precious,
Even more so when it pursues
Not a man to love her, but her own growth.

Passion was its heartbeat,
Enclosed in a rib cage made of forged knives
so that a real man should struggle before it.

For a woman who knows her worth and beauty,
knows well that no one could be irreparably broken
Even when she ironically used forged knives to protect her scars.

IA
Quaintrelle (n.)
a woman who emphasizes a life of passion
Ileana Amara Aug 2020
the daggers pierced through,
when i thought i had an armor on;
i barely felt the stinging pain,
i barely bled before my eyes,

i carried on until i looked at the mirror;
i forgot how the sharp tip should have felt,
it pierced through my own flesh, armor-less.

IA
Ileana Amara Jun 2020
my heart was hammered a couple times,
of a few lovers who knew bittersweet crimes,
even with these remnants, I want to bet on uncertainty
I want to learn how to love again - fearlessly even in adversity.

IA
Ileana Amara Dec 2020
thousands of colors drip
as memories traverse deep;

i ventured the corner where we used to meet,
in my head, you were more than just black and white
a creature with a beautiful soul, always within sight,
yet the inevitable ending urged me for this lonely visit.

the silence drowned me and i wanted to hear a heartbeat
from where the light glows and your shadow goes,
the battle between how my heart feels and what my mind knows;
i sat down, knowing it requires a mightier feat.

IA
Ileana Amara May 2020
a gloriously beautiful man and angel
cast down to heavens
for his pride and rebellious streak,
sympathizing the tempting evil, Satan.

then is a fallen angel commiserating
the iniquity of a sinner who needed it most,
whose name and itself is a scapegoat,
to him ascribe all sin and darkness,
the corruption of humanity,
as he himself is chained
to the rough and jagged rocks,
awaiting the vicious torment,
just like a scapegoat sinner in dire need
of common humanity's prayer.

IA
Inspired by the words of Mark Twain, "But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?"
Ileana Amara May 2020
peace exists only until
you destroy its walls,
your words bled its ears,
you suffocate it with love,
you dim the light of hope,
you wreak havoc in its home,
and left like a prideful coward,
just when the beast in slumber awakens.

IA
Ileana Amara Jun 2020
we're all just a blink in a ripple of time,
everything, be it good or bad, is temporary
a faultless coincidence or an action to a crime
in a realistic end, everything happens for a reason.

IA
Ileana Amara May 2020
running out of my favorite coffee
on such a fine evening to work and write poetry,
without a hot mug beside, it feels incomplete in all honesty,
went for some decaf, apologies, my taste does not really fancy

IA ☕
Ileana Amara Aug 2020
it was remember to forget;
that then is not the same as now,
and miles have stretched in between since we have met.

IA
there are things & people we have to stop hoping they could come back into our lives the same way it was then.
Ileana Amara Jun 2020
I beg for the heavens to breathe me back to life;

all the tough walls have been breached
it was inner peace, I am trying to reach
I bled from nowhere, have to learn how to stitch,
my life to a lifeless soul seems to have been switched

heavens did not hear me for days and weeks,
I was left thinking, sometimes bare existence is a misery.

IA
Ileana Amara May 2020
we're down to the sixth month of twenty-twenty
closing previous chapters, chasing new camaraderie
the chasm and contagious line of diversion keeps worsening
it's alright to wish for new beginnings or a regression to the mean.

have some fearless faith, today is a fresh, blank slate
dare to carve wishes with hope to what is unexpected by fate.

IA ☕
Ileana Amara Aug 2020
the substance of past runs down through my scars
slicing with regrets, grief and loss;
bleeding with memories hooked on distant stars,
beautiful but faraway, meant to burn, and over time, get lost.

IA
Ileana Amara Jun 2020
in the subtlety of time,
they dragged me into a dark pit of existence,
sundered my being with their sharp claws
of everything as dark as their eye pupils
they had no ears to listen to my wails,
chained in terror, at loss for hope;
I was their sole epitome of misanthrope,
birthed by my own mind; demons beyond my scope

loneliness engulfed me; the downside of solitude
demons voided me from a life well-pursued
they were an illusion who loves to delude,
day by day, I attempted to befriend them,
what better way to lure an enemy into a friend condemned?

yet there was a root to its subsistence,
there was pain to its persistence,
it was real, desiring for our coexistence.

IA ☕
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