Category: Memories

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NOT SO LONELY SATURDAY

I forget names of lovers
and reasons why we got together,
letting my memories fade
into a petal-thin
black and white photographs
that I hang on a fishing rod
and use it as a bait
to attract new victims.

Nothing is more alluring to a man
than a failure of another one.

Patterns on my dress
swirl into never-ending stories
that I used to hear from others,
but anytime I find photos of lovers’ faces,
I’m struggling to remember all the reasons
for our abrupt goodbyes.

I know they were willing to give me
all the lust they had,
but I had nowhere to store
this overflow of love,
so I had to compensate my guilt
with words,
that were untrue,
yet they made us feel better
and by far
less awkward.

Sometimes
I list names of men
that kissed me on my lips
and compare them with the ones
that only kissed my forehead,
(like the father that I never had).
Or the ones,
that thought
the taste of my inner thighs
will make them more secure
about
what I think of them.

Six glasses of wine
and
all these words
turned into
a poem,
that
you
wont
read.

– Chatty Owl –

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MOONLIGHT SONATA

I’m not the one to make my eyes melt into tears, while thinking about the past, but sometimes I sit back with a strong whiskey in my hand and remember those moments, that made my lips curl up in a smile. The drink burns my throat the same way my mind is burning ties to all the men I used to know. Or fuck.

Moonlight Sonata was always this one melody that made my eyes well up. In a happy way. Every time I listen to it, my whole body is flooded with an unexplainable inspiration, with an urge to write, create, do anything but ignore. Once in a while I’m reminded of this masterpiece (usually by accident), but it makes me smirk, remembering, how I learned to love it that much.

It was a long time ago. There was this boy, who fancied my green eyes, enough for him to stalk out little personal details about me just to please me. He was such a talented little fucker and his fingers created magic with the black and white keys of the piano. I was never the romantic type, but he managed to persuade me to stay on the phone with him for hours and hours one warm summer night, while I listened to him playing Moonlight Sonata on the loop.

It was magical. As were his fingers inside me the day after and his heart in my hand a while later. I was touched by his purity and devotion to please me, but he had to pay the price by watching his loving heart being shattered to pieces.

The Moonlight Sonata is one of the most beautiful memories I have.

– Chatty Owl –

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THE PAST

You told me,
that my hands are always cold.
Especially my fingertips.
I blamed it on the weather
and
the foggy air of moody London,
but we both knew,
this is just how I am.

Icy.

You tried
to cunningly defrost my soul
and make my thoughts
all thawed and leaking water,
but
all it did,
was built defences higher
and suddenly
all doors got shut.

A heavy weight of a padlock.

You questioned everything
that popped into your head –
sincerity of my moving lips,
the truthfulness in my eyes,
the husky voice
and my motives.

True or false.

I played with strands of my hair,
to compliment
my misleading nervous answers,
while your orders
got more strict by a second,
creating waves of insecurity.
We played a game,
all back and forth,
tossing each others hearts
into the air.

Sky-high.

In the end,
there were only words left to play with,
so this is why I write.
Like this.

– Chatty Owl –

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JUNE 7TH

Today.
A day, marked in my calendar.
Anticipated, waited, dreamt of.
It had to be the day,
when your arms and hugs
were my only clothes
and
your kisses was the only thing
I eat.
Today.
My hands had to be resting
on your hips
as I try to reach your heart
with my words,
whispered in the air…
Today.
It’s the only day
of a painful reminder,
that the only thing
that makes me dizzy to the core
is not your scent,
but cheap red wine
inside a glass
I cracked this morning.

– Chatty Owl –

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ABOVE THE GROUND

A hundred thousand feet
above the ground,
and all I can think of
is your arms,
full of me.
I was marking days in a calendar,
awaiting that moment
of our half-full glasses
making an overflow of feelings,
but now
I’m drinking myself stupid
and my glass
is always empty
instead.
Yes, they say
that
time heals all wounds,
but I’m self-harming myself
to oblivion,
making the irony sweet
and
the sarcasm sweeter.
I’m re-reading your letters
as others try to decipher my moods
and palms,
and even the remains
of my old coffee.
I leave them all
blank-faced and confused,
because
I hide it so well.
A hundred thousand feet
above the ground.

– Chatty Owl –

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MILKED

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 –

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MEANS TO AN END

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 –

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MUSED, AMUSED

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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 –

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ENOUGH

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 –