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 3d eliana
RED
Family
 3d eliana
RED
For some, family is blood.
For some, family is love.
For some, family is everything.
For some, it’s nothing.
But no one knows what family is.

I got a bird who checks on my health every morning.
Got a mother who wakes up early
to prepare some meal
and creates hygiene.

Got a father who works day and night
still making sure I sleep at night.

Got a naughty sister —
teases me all day, all night,
but still there when I cried.

I fight easily with anyone —
got a brother’s back to hide.

Got a lover who is polite.
Got some friends who know their boundaries.
Got some poets who don’t judge me,
even when I write bad poetries.

Got a vulture who comes at night,
making sure I sleep alright.

I know
I can still thrive without them in my life…
but then
I will head
to a meaningless life.
 3d eliana
lizie
bandaids on my wrist.
i wish they worked.
i wish i did.
 3d eliana
lizie
for as long as i can remember,
i’ve been chasing perfect,
tight-laced, gold-star, quiet ache.
and for a while,
i think i caught it.

but i’m not perfect anymore.
i flinch too easy,
snap too fast,
leave texts unread,
pick at scabs that should’ve healed.

people still call me smart, kind, strong,
and i don’t correct them.
it’s easier to wear the mask
than explain the mess underneath.

i disappoint myself
in small, sharp ways,
forgetting, avoiding, breaking down.
i say “i’m fine”
because it’s faster
than confessing i’m not.

expectations stick like static,
even when no one says them out loud.
and i still feel guilty
for letting people love
someone i no longer recognize.
We're too blind.
We're too blind.
We feel but
Can't see the light.

You tell her, you tell him
It'll all be okay.
But when it's your turn
You can't find a way?

You're doomed.
You're too broken.
But it's too soon.
You can still get out
Of THIS broken room.

See the light that hides behind.
But sadly, we're too blind
We're too blind.

Words of hope and love
Linger upon our lips.
But what the actual ****?
They feel like heavy bricks.

Because you can't speak love to you,
Even when it's noble. Needed. And true.
We’ve got all these wise advices.
All these caring people.
Still, we’re in the middle of a crisis.
Still, we don’t feel whole.

It’s like having the instructions to driving.
But still failing when trying and trying.
Because, that doesn’t mean you know how to drive.

So no. It’s not your fault.
And no. You’re not wrong.
You’re not too broken.
Just spill your heart.
Don’t live unspoken.
Let light in dark.
After all, you’ve got people who care. (And if you don’t, I’m always free to be the first to care.)
 3d eliana
lizie
i drain him.
i know it.
and still,
i stay.

i say i’m trying,
but really,
i’m cracking.
i’m drowning
with his lungs
in my chest.

next i’ll bleed
through his arms,
sob
through his eyes,
wreck
what’s left
of his heart.

i was never
meant
to be held.
You Are the Texture

…………………………

~ for all of you,
you, you poet~



Impasto

is a technique used in painting,
where paint is laid on an area of
the surface thickly, usually thick
enough that the brush or  painting-
knife strokes are visible.

Paint can also be mixed right on
to the canvas. When dry, impasto
provides texture; the paint appears
as if, to be coming out of the canvas.


<1:47pm>

Cut & Paste

is a technique used in poetry writing,
we refer back to our visions,
heard words,
the eyeful, the earful, scents,
the reads read,
all in the mind’s palette blended,
thickly, but
when

the merging fused,
every word~in~coloration,
it is unique, reincarnation,
copying impossible.

The imagery, cut and pasted from thy heart and soul,
upon canvas,
your poems~pieces each appear

as you-are-texture,
you becoming out of, you,
the canvas.

<2:04pm>


Postscript*
………………

it is not lost on me that the
scars, our words, herein,
as we note all too frequently,
almost casually,
are, can be, those selfsame
words/painting-knife
employed
for our first and foremost canvas we utilize,

ourselves…
our bodies,
our
very selves
salved
Fri Jun 23
2023
What good are my words?
They're only reaching deaf ears.
I can only speak.
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