As some of you know, for the past few months I was working on putting a book together. Well, finally I have finished fussing with it! You can get your hands on it HERE. Also, there is a limited amount of signed copies of the book, if you would like to get one with my handwritten scribbles inside, please contact me directly by email blog@chattyowl.com or leave a comment here and I will get it arranged!
Thanks to all of you for being such a great support!
- Chatty Owl -
Messy hair
is just a fracture
of a true mess inside your mind,
but like a careful guide
you beckon my body
to follow yours.
It’s a dance
with no rules,
but so beautifully in tune
to a perfection.
We always are though, right?
I chew
like a dog on a bone
these muffled words of yours,
as they leave your hollow mouth
into mine.
I’m sucking dry
the drops of your attention,
but somehow
leave you wanting me
instead.
I don’t write about matters
of my own heart,
‘cos I dont have one
and love affairs
always end
in the same way
as does my impeccable acting -
like a proof,
that I can lie
so well.
But not today.
- Chatty Owl -
I pay for my sins
in a currency of torn connections
and
the faded colour of your closed eyes.
The ones,
that witnessed all the nasty cravings
and imprints
on the non-tanned skin.
It got chased
by my red-painted nails
and
the blue smoke.
That’s what made our passion purple -
unlike those ripe emotions,
that got replaced
by immature steps
of selfish needs,
while
my dirty petticoat
reeked of yesterday’s booze
and unfiltered words -
those got lost
somewhere between sheets,
together with broken strands of hair
and
our lawless past.
It screamed loud
in high-pitched tones
of
rightful accusations.
Ours.
- Chatty Owl -
It’s been a very very long time I have’t written in collaboration with anybody. But today I want to share with you a poem that I wrote together with ever so secretive Man Behind the Steel Mask. Check him out, some saucy things there!
You get lost.
Inside the beauty of my lies
and
raven black hair.
Tangled.
You get confused.
In the labyrinth of my thoughts
and
pools of my eyes.
Watching.
Come closer.
Hear my breathing get faster.
Watch my eye-lids close
and
my skin scream for a touch.
Rough.
Do not hold back.
Your passions fueling fire
burn me into you
and
liquefy my spirited body.
Fast.
I burn a mark
on the map of your skin.
Inked.
Sweaty kisses were never that
tasty.
For us.
Branded by lust.
Forever embedded thoughts.
Flesh on flesh
bound
caressing fingertip traces.
Ecstasy.
Odours of skin
mix with the sweat of bodies
writhing.
Heat,
exploding from inside,
has never tasted so seducing
off your fingers.
Feeling one
bound by unions of pleasure.
Satisfied.
Loving.
Holding tightly to each
want it all to begin again.
Dry lips
shield my wet warm mouth
from kissing.
I wrap strings of my hair
around fingers
as
I watch your thoughts dreaming
about
my legs
wrapped around your neck
instead.
We don’t talk
and you can’t hear my whispers,
but we both know
that I’ll be sitting on your
face
tonight
and at your breakfast table
tomorrow.
- Chatty Owl -
White dented skin,
marked with careful precision
of
accidental wounds.
I look over my shoulder
instead of looking at your face
and it makes it all glamorous
and justifying,
as if I was posing
for that perfect picture.
Your salty fingers
end up invading my mouth,
stopping me
from screaming out the truth,
so what you get
are forced, silent lies.
Deaf
to the sound of ill-coloured heart
and blind
to the pale indifference we both share,
we let our exhaled breaths float
in the night around us.
I strike you as cold,
but it’s just that
I don’t like crying
over spilled milk.
- Chatty Owl -
You found me naked
moments after I didn’t want to
be discovered,
yet
I still let you watch me
while I was watching you(r)
reaction.
Exposed skin
became less and less visible
by the soundless noise of the soft cashmere
that suddenly covered my arms.
Dark cotton slid on my skin
flawlessly
as
the colour of my pale milky legs
got replaced by denim.
Glimpses of the bare flesh
got exchanged for fabric
and
your surprised expression
got exchanged for mutual attraction.
Buzzing in the air.
I watched you watching me
getting dressed
and you could barely control your excitement
and the urge
to rip my clothes
back off.
Even though you heard
my mind screaming “no”
in reply,
we both knew
that all you had to do
is say one word
to make it all happen.
I make pretty words
sound filthy
and you tame wild girls
to act oh-so-obedient.
- Chatty Owl -
Lack of sleep
turns into lack of tolerance
I have for you
right now.
My restless body
moves under pale shadows
of these warm sheets
and I eagerly attempt to ignore
the approaching morning
in order to forget
that
my sunsets are the colour of your heart
that got violently pierced
by skyscrapers
of an unfamiliar land,
where I fly
high,
above the first glimpse
of the London dawn
to steal your sky away,
just like I took your heart
that day
on a journey to nowhere.
With me.
I teased
and left you wanting me
a little bit more
than you did two minutes ago,
but it wasn’t enough
to make you lose your mind,
all because we both know
I made this choice for us
on purpose
and
spoiled the taste
of my imaginary whispers
and kisses on your mouth
to stop us moving forward.
Addictions require dedication
and I don’t like commitments.
- Chatty Owl -
Stop.
Frozen bodies around us.
Touch.
My hand in yours.
Warm.
We are still warm.
Beg.
To stay this way.
Simple toys of paper airplanes
give me hope
that dreams fly at the speed of a thought -
light enough to be a breath
on a steamed mirror
that reflects you
next-to-me
and not the other way round.
- Chatty Owl -
Your silent words,
sealed lips,
like an envelope of a letter
I’m dreading to open.
You gift me with a quiet torture,
an abandon treatment
and I know,
there is only an empty sheet of paper
inside.
Withhold the sentences
and words,
and cryptic letters,
forget the exclamation marks
that turn to
questions,
forget the signatures
and crinkled corners -
I’m holding this,
that’s nothing more than pile of dust -
imagination,
wishful thinking,
a gust of wind and whispers in the grass.
I thank you for nothing,
yet
I have to thank you.
- Chatty Owl -
You put words in my mouth
instead of placing fingers
there.
I let screams of anger,
when I should be shouting curses
of
ultimate pleasure.
Loud screeching noises
and
sounds of carnivore hunger
get mixed up in my mind,
while fading away into the fog
around us,
and like a sadistic siren
I enjoy
every single moment
that crows spend picking
on your heart.
I
should be burning your tongue
with mine,
but instead
I’m burning memories of us,
because scattered ashes
is the best way
to end it.
- Chatty Owl -
My open mouth
swirling words,
spitting abuse and
words of fucking love.
Slick hugs
feel
like an obedient canary
singing praises -
raises -
ups and downs
of these nightmares.
Your lips
with the taste of lazy nothing,
aroma of a bird
(with wet feathers)
on you,
under,
on top of
me
(inside you)
and visa versa -
I’m a plain romance
to you.
With a heart of whiskey,
body of ice,
and
kisses and touches
in the pissing rain.
You call me names you know,
But you don’t know
-ME-
Lolita is my nickname
and
… is my name.
Sweet kisses
and fluttering eyelashes
turn into fans of lust,
waves of love,
winds of attraction,
hurricanes, that
destroy fucking everything -
even red lipstick
and
flawless legs.
Come.
Touch me to death.
To the line of departure.
Before it’s too soon to regret.
Lets.
Now.
- Chatty Owl -
Dirty taste of wet water.
Don’t remember all the sins I committed,
but
I still dip my toes and run my fingertips
in a shamefully disguised surprise
about
how sinister my past is.
You used to pull my hair
as I pulled myself up from my knees -
the electricity was so buzzing
between us,
that our bodies lost connection
and died
electrocuted
by each other’s sin.
- Chatty Owl -
Faint smell,
lingering on my fingers
is a constant reminder
of
those flawless hugs,
tongue-tied sentences
and
over-exposed film
that you used
on me
the night before.
It was black-cat-dark
and so softly purring
when
I came
(to you),
like a moon-child chasing paper
as I tried to stay
untraced
under your skin,
leaving you guilt and memory free
of us,
except I failed
and left
long black hair
scattered on your floor
while
every single carpet burn
now
means
that you cannot forget me.
Try?
- Chatty Owl -
You gaze at me,
I gaze out the window
as
we both touch the same wallpaper,
peeling,
but the patterns stain fingers
in different colours -
my green is your no
and your blue is the new red.
Mix it up.
Shake it,
but the results are always the same -
dirty brown.
Like an out of date rainbow.
- Chatty Owl -
You say
my skin is like your coffee -
with milk and sugar.
I smile in return
and we both sieve our own memories
about last night -
you smile and reach for my hand
while
I bury my coldness
in the rising steam from a cup.
I don’t pay for my drinks
and I don’t pay you compliments,
because
unlike my eyes,
my mouth is refusing to lie.
My indifference
still makes your breathing loud
and your heartbeat faster,
and I know
that
you see me as a girl
of
“let me be your man”,
but I can’t let you do that
as much
as I can’t stay here for too long,
so I just leave you
with cups both full
of milky coffee -
I like mine black anyway.
- Chatty Owl -
Come.
A bit closer.
Do you remember how you used to toy around
with my fingers
while
I toyed with your heart
and we both blamed the playful moods
and
relationship faux pas?
Jealousy used to leak
like words
out of our mouths
and we soaked them all back
with our brittle lips
and dry kisses
of rehearsed attraction.
Do you remember,
how you didn’t complain
and I didn’t mention
that I notice it?
- Chatty Owl -
I enjoy
the sound of spilled water.
Not the one under the bridge,
but the one leaking from the sky
in the colour of dirty milk.
It soothes me.
The taste of it
reminds me of that coral sharpness
that we both feel in our throats
when I get under your skin
and
you get under my clothes -
I’m always one and a half
steps ahead of you.
Wrap up warm,
my actions sting more
than the white rain outside our windows.
- Chatty Owl -
You say,
bridges are built,
so him and her
could cross rivers over,
in order to hold hands,
even for a brief moment.
You say,
these steel and concrete giants
are here to remind us
of all the forced decisions
we took,
because we had to,
as we march across the cement pavements,
reaching destinations,
A to B.
Sceptical opinions
lose their power
in virtual attractions
and like players
of some surreal game
we transfer binary codes
to the streets of our city,
in a form of shared coffee cups
and coldness of our hands.
I crave your brave actions
of (non)shown affection,
that you claim to have
towards me
and
you tease my patience
with a harsh lack of promises,
because you know I’m addicted
to this sweet torture
of yours.
- Chatty Owl -
Clothes. Torn.
Like my heart in your hands.
In pieces.
I scream. Loud to your mind.
To drown the guilt.
We both hear.
Neck. Arched.
So is my back.
To make you want my legs.
Around you.
Are you the type
that falls in love
with taken men?
I am the type
that steals them.
- Chatty Owl -
Your words
are stronger
than my own hands,
squeezing
my fast beating heart
in moments
of a desperate anxiety,
making it
too difficult to breathe
and so easy
to cry.
And I do,
until salty tears
become a
tasteless aftertaste
of the decision
that
I need you.
Now.
- Chatty Owl -
I fall asleep
to the sound of the clock,
that stopped weeks ago,
but I like hearing things
that are not present for days now.
I drift away
into a sleepless dream about you
and our dreamless sleepovers
together,
where the tone of your voice
is the perfect alarm
in the never-coming morning.
We fall asleep
to my body belonging to yours
and
we never say a word,
when it’s time to leave,
because I hate asking questions
and
you’ve already asked yours.
- Chatty Owl -
Hand over my mouth,
like a tale of “speak no evil”.
I should suspend my thoughts
and
put my lusts on hold,
except… I don’t.
- Chatty Owl -
I have a question for you, my lovelies. The other day I had a conversation with a my very dear friend and it got me wondering. Do you approach a person that suddenly took your fancy somewhere? Are you ok at approaching strangers and letting them know that he/she caught your eye? And if you don’t, why not? Or if you do, what is usually the outcome? Just some opinions needed… I’d love to hear some interesting stories!
Not you.
I spill.
The drink.
Across the table.
Wet.
Like me.
Not you.
You curse.
Not me.
I smile.
It’s wet.
Me, not you.
You want it.
Wetter.
Me. Not you.
It’s you.
And me.
- Chatty Owl -
I wait.
I pace.
I trip over my own shadow,
(deliberately),
because I want to find a reason for the pain
that lives inside me.
Memories about you
fade,
but not my anger,
that’s always present,
digging in,
like the bleakest night in arctic.
I sip cold coffee -
a reminder of those long evenings,
when you weren’t here,
and
I want to dilute my drink
with hot, salty tears,
(deliberately),
just so I could feel
some sort of taste
in this room of total confinement.
I want to hate you,
but I’m afraid
that’s too strong of an emotion,
so I just continue
to long for you,
(de-
li-
be-
ra-
te-
ly-)
because it’s more self-destructive
this way.
And i like it.
- Chatty Owl -
Eyes. Closed.
Mouth. Not.
Neither are legs.
Hands. Locked.
Together with yours.
Above us.
Smells. Intensified.
Movements. Quicker.
Than the heart rate.
Lover-like. Affairs.
Animal-like. Actions.
Us. Lusting.
Over each other.
With no. Happy end.
To finish off. With.
Once
I had the urge for you,
similar to that feeling you get
after a night out,
when all you want to do
is get home
and be comfortable
under the warm covers,
except that
covers are always soft
and I turned harsh
on you
right now.
I despise
how your tongue
forks out lies
in a form of honey-glazed words
and how your mouth
turns into the shape
of the infinity,
as you disguise your mistakes
in candy-coated letters
as
I eye you up,
and my sympathy
turns into anger,
which turns into inspiration,
that I’m not gonna thank you for,
because
me opening my mouth
is only good for other things,
and they surely
are not
please’s and thank you’s.
- Chatty Owl -
Carefully placed fingers
press
against the pale shades of my skin,
that shivers in silence
and only evaporating heat
can be heard
in the still hours of this darkness.
Accidentally visible shadows
on the light blue wall
touch each other and
dance
to the music of their own movements,
forcing you to look up
and me to observe
- us -
in the form of faceless reflections
that are black in colour.
Your lips purposely sting mine
as I touch you
with a kiss,
which forces my crossed legs
do the opposite.
Trip over me, so we have a reason to touch.
- Chatty Owl -
This is going to be a new Green Feature – but every so often I will have a blog post featuring Random Art and Artists that I have discovered or want me to discover them. (If you’d like to be featured in one of these please Contact Me)
Today’s artist is Chatty Owl. I’ve been following her blog and she has some amazing poetry.
I remember
all burnt dinners and skipped breakfasts,
because you couldn’t face us
being in separate places,
so we stayed in bed instead,
counting.
You calculated days
that
we still have left
and I
summed up echoes
of those memories we had.
Numbers didn’t match,
but I knew it was because
our minds
were so pathetically different.
They still are.
- Chatty Owl -
Words of apology
hardly ever leave my mouth.
Guarded
by the maze of embarrassment
and tunnels of arrogant vanity,
they stay right
where
they (don’t) belong -
inside.
(Like your body parts
inside me
in the morning).
I like to wonder
about
what colour are your thoughts
when you think about me,
but then…
does it really matter?
I’m not your friend
any more.
Friends
are for when things go wrong
and you need a shoulder
or two
to cry on.
And lovers -
for when one is happy,
because
there is no better way
than to share your joy and money
with someone
you’re attracted to.
I’m not your friend,
because
you chose
to share your happiness
with me.
- Chatty Owl -
You have such a talent!
A talent?
A talent for what?
Anyone can ramble away
in bitter words,
but that’s not a talent,
it ain’t special.
It takes more
than a sarcastic comment
to be a poet
and
I’m just a blabbering owl,
who saw a chance.
I told
way too many men
that I love them -
they never questioned how much,
so I just shushed
about the quantity
and fingered
words in sand
of a pure lie -
“I love you”.
They ran to me,
led by an instinct,
like little kids run to their mother
in need of reassurance
and
indescribable momentum,
except the fact
that
they weren’t children
and I had no intentions
of directing them
away.
Those stories ended
before they even could begin
and I never cared enough
to explain
why
I never bought them
Christmas presents.
There is no such thing as Santa
and no such thing
as the love of an owl.
Judge me tomorrow,
today we are still pretending
to be happy.
- Chatty Owl -
You’re here,
but you don’t want me.
You write long-winded words
and pretentious sentences,
waiting
for someone to take your bait
and pay you back
in three wishes
of African gold,
but let me tell you,
my dear,
bait is bitter and gold is cheap,
compared with a fact,
that
my biggest inspiration is anger
and you inspire me
a lot
lately.
- Chatty Owl -
A second choice,
a backup plan -
like leftovers, still warm on your spoon,
but tasteless -
good only to keep your body alive,
surviving,
but
without any real passion,
that humanity craves so much
(that you crave so much!)
Thats all you get -
residue,
substitute of feelings.
You’ve been living off her love,
but there’s none left any more
for you,
just chucked-outside coldness
and pity feelings -
like trash of the riches.
I know you hurt all over
as if your skin is a reflection
of a bruised soul
and I watch you force yourself
to fall asleep like this -
by waking up with a headache,
that seems so soothing
in comparison.
She has done it.
Not on purpose, yet so effectively.
You left your life for her
and she returned to hers -
without you.
- Chatty Owl -
I told you how I bite
more than I can chew sometimes
and how
I deliberately don’t sleep at night,
so I could think about
what you are doing
right now
on the other side of the world.
(Stupid time difference).
I want to be with you -
at least like this,
in present time…
They call it insomnia,
I call it obedience
and
being neurotic.
- Chatty Owl -
Waiting for seasons to change
is as much fun
as getting your hair stroked
by your own hand -
it’s never as pleasing,
unless somebody else does it.
Naked trees are not the same
as naked bodies,
but it’s all porn to me,
because
I don’t believe in covering up
feelings
that I don’t have for you.
There is no shame
in wanting to forget your name,
but it is unfortunate
to realise
that I already don’t remember it.
(Or maybe I never even knew it?)
just like you never knew
how much I despise flowers in fields
and pots
and vases,
but I smile every time
you attempt to pick them for me,
because
that’s how much I don’t care
to be truthful to you.
“It’s not fair”, I hear you think
and I have
only one answer to this -
“you’ll get used to it”.
You and me -
never in love.
We learned the words of it,
but not the language
and when you looked me in the eyes
with that adorable look
that whispered how you feel,
I revealed the biggest secret -
it’s not love, my dear.
It’s just another day.
- Chatty Owl -
I can’t sleep again. It’s been the fourth night in a row now. (Well, it was more, but I’d like to document only recent extremities).
I would love to blame you for that, but you don’t exist.
My thoughts, like sirens in the sea, are luring me to toy with the rusty flow of my mind.
I need a diversion. But the problem with them is…you get involved.
- Chatty Owl -
I make you believe that
I’m an open book
by making you read me
backwards -
like a cryptic countdown.
But you already know
the culminating end
will be
those peaceful, well-known words
of
“once upon a time…”
Hard covers are lying
about how tough I am
and how well I bluff
looking right at your face,
but we both can’t hide
the attraction,
that’s measured in two-tone
poker chips and
rigid paper money,
hidden in the scent of those old books.
So don’t ask me
why I continue drinking coffee -
I’m just hoping
to find you
at the bottom of my cup.
- Chatty Owl -
Right. My Friday (yesterday) started absolutely great and the person to “blame” is dear http://mysteriouslyquiet.wordpress.com/ for listing me as one of her Very Inspiring Bloggers. Flattered and honoured so very much!
I know that we are all here to share our thoughts in a form of words and it’s inspiring and motivating to see such a big growing community of talented people that really are so good with words…
In addition to that, I would like to thank every one of you for stopping by and reading my ramblings. Means a world to me, really.
Now for the rules about the award.
1. Copy the award and place it in your post.
2. Thank the person who nominated you and add a link back to their blog.
3. Tell 7 things about yourself.
4. Nominate 15 fellow bloggers for the award and tell them by posting a comment on their blogs.
So, here goes my seven deadly facts, ha ha!
1. I can bark like a dog and you wouldn’t tell the difference.
2. I’m addicted to coffee and whiskey.
3. I speak three languages.
4. I cannot write, if there is clutter around me.
5. Most powerful inspiration comes to me at night or early hours of the morning. I’d say 4am is the most productive.
6. I love walking around with no purpose. Especially around the city lights at night.
7. I have no patience. At all.
Now for the fun part. These are the blogs that I think deserve to be read over and over again, because they are that good. Inspiring. Created by talented people. I’m happy I came across every single one of you!
1. http://chestermaynes.wordpress.com/
2. http://crushedoblivion.wordpress.com/
3. http://repressedsoul.wordpress.com/
4. http://takeoffyourprose.wordpress.com/
5. http://po3tic.wordpress.com/
6. http://eclipsingwinter.com/
7. http://throughthehealinglens.com/
8. http://februarystationery.com/
9. http://wordsofbirds.wordpress.com/
10. http://fragmentedfigments.wordpress.com/
Go and visit them to check them out!
Oh, and one more thing. Please don’t feel obliged to “play along”, but I think this was a great way to show the others what I read and what I like and to say thank you to all of you for being so awesome!
Yours,
Chatty Owl
You grabbed my hand
to grab a bite
in that place at the end of the street,
where you sneaked in a bottle of gin
at 10 o’clock in the morning -
the same time I promised you
that
I will pickpocket the love
out of your heart
to leave you with lust
only,
as that is stronger
than emotions and money put together -
because it forms a feeling.
I gave you a taste of myself
and made you crawl for more,
but you gave me a sneak peak of your life
and made me lose interest,
even though
we never loved each other more
than we do now.
You gave me a reason,
but I gave you a solution
and then we both broke our promises…
The only thing thats left for us
is gather dust in relationships
with someone else.
Loved,
but acting so unloving -
back at them.
- Chatty Owl -
I mused,
amused by my body
screaming “sleep, girl!”
as my mind hissed back to keep my eyes open,
in case I will see you.
I’m sure you were standing
right there in front of me in the dark,
I just couldn’t trace your contours.
You were like white letters
on a white sheet of paper.
Just the opposite.
Those little details are important,
when you care,
my darling boy,
but I ignore them.
Like smart men ignore smart women,
who are just pretending to be smart.
Everybody pretends.
And then they all get tired,
like I get tired of learning from my own mistakes.
So I just make new ones,
bigger ones this time -
hoping
it will make my past look
more decent,
more forgivable,
less shameful,
guilt free.
I despise guilt, so I steer away from it.
If I could, I would number all my men
and forget their names for good.
Names give them personalities,
and those give them power.
There is a very thin line
between control and arrogance
and that thin line is me.
I mused,
amused by the sound
of a four letter word.
And I don’t mean the rude one
that you just thought about.
The other one.
- Chatty Owl -
Thirty four missed calls
over
six cups of untouched coffee
and
I read the words out loud,
ignoring the brutal echo of their sound.
My hair is up
and my knees are pressed hard
against some foreign tunes in the room,
leaving me content and so peacefully happy.
I smile
as non-existing pollen makes me sneeze
eight times in a row,
reminding me that you are reading this
with me. Together.
And I enjoy
the racket of our hearts. Beating.
- Chatty Owl -
Sometimes I wonder
why can’t I like you
more
than those stinging questions you ask,
when you know that I lie
about every letter that leaves my filthy mouth,
yet
you ask me anyway.
Empty letterbox reminds me of a promise
to be
never in need,
never in love,
but you persist stepping on my naked toes
and I keep on reminding you
that
we are just two lovers,
stuck in a daylight nightmare.
Every day is a comfort of fake and I lower my eyes, when you ask me,
will I love you tomorrow.
Silence could never be as loud.
- Chatty Owl -
There!
Just…right there.
Yes,
right this moment,
when warm shower becomes
a rain of scolding cold.
That moment,
when careful footsteps in the night
stop right outside your door
and
all you can do is
listen to your own scared heart-beat
and pray that you are dreaming.
Right that moment,
when you realise you lost your keys
and nobody will let you in,
because
you chose to live alone.
(Years ago).
This is that moment.
And I know
you know
the feeling
I’m talking about…
That moment,
when I realised that all these words
were not for me.
I hate that moment.
- Chatty Owl -
They all take me
in little portions and big gulps.
The fights for attention
end up
in loud noises and broken bones -
mine.
Greedy hands and
sugar coated sentences
melt right in my mouth
and all I want to do
is spit them all out
and forget the taste
of attraction
they have for me.
I envy
happy lives of others
and secure doors to one’s future.
It smells like jealousy
and
tastes like self-pity
and thats the worst
they could have done to me.
Resentment.
Fridays
are the least romantic days of the week,
but Tuesdays are the best for tears,
and thats all I’m gonna do today -
cry.
- Chatty Owl -
I had to change my name,
because my face didn’t fit your hands
as it used to
and when you kissed me,
there were no sparks to prove,
that we are in love.
I like the thought of you
(un)dressed on my bed,
but it’s not easy for me
to hang my clothes
on your peg of honesty,
so I just throw them on the floor -
the same place, where
you used to tell me,
how you enjoy the smell
of my just-washed hair.
You write prose about your past
and I (un)write poems about the future,
because I don’t have one.
I want to stare at your face
all three hundred minutes
and no breaks,
but I still won’t be able to see
past that mask of yours
and guess the name
of your first girlfriend.
Sometimes I drag my nails
across walls and floorboards
trying to find that perfect word
to describe
how much I want to hate you,
but it takes three seconds
to find a web of words
to express the emotion I have
for your blue eyes, that
are not blue after-all.
Creative monsters live in walls
of my bedroom,
but only on those days,
when you’ve slept in my bed
and left socks on the stairs -
like a reminder,
that you will crawl back
inside my mind again.
Like a snake in the grass.
Like my hand in your pants.
I wear a shirt with no bra
and I drink coffee with no sugar,
but I cover my eyes in front of strangers
and I disguise whiskey in my coffee,
when the clock strikes 7 in the morning,
because
this is the time,
when people have lunch in Japan
and I like eating in good company.
With strangers.
You told me to quit lying,
but I never even tried
doing it,
so don’t patronise me about things
I have not intended to do,
until you offered
and
I slipped.
- Chatty Owl -
Enough.
The flashbacks of the past,
like ghosts,
reflected in the mirrors of today…
They’re forcing me to see
the image
I so long to put behind me.
The crush.
The lust.
The so called love…
Emotions, that have never had a label on them…
They do come back,
when I expect them not to
and I’m so tired
of this constant struggle
of compete,
that my whole soul just wants to shout,
and scream,
and yell
…
Enough!
Enough of this!
Enough…
Let’s break the silence,
like we used to break each other.
It’s time to be above all this
and let each other live.
In peace.
- Chatty Owl -
Once again. It’s that day. My mind is always full of you. On a Sunday.
