"Owls are not what they seem"
I wish I was a flat shadow,
reflected on pages of your favourite book,
so you could carry me around,
like an imprint of a flower,
that has dried in the heat of your palms,
preserving all the bright colours
that I am.
How often do I wish
to be this fool of a girl,
that is not affected by her own soul
screaming,
and thoughts, that cause insomnia
and madness from within.
It must be liberating
to be so ludicrous,
so I’m asking you
to turn me into one.
– Chatty Owl –
I miss you
and the memory
that never happened.
I refused an image of you,
because I knew it will haunt me like
a pirate’s curse.
I’m under your spell,
without you knowing.
I’d like a war, a battle,
that’s more feisty than today,
because right now,
I fight alone,
and you are nowhere near this field.
I want to find you
in the crowd of strangers,
at the station,
and fall to the ground
like a descending autumn colour,
to ask for your forgiveness
once again.
And again.
And a thousand times more.
I played my life
as fair as I could these years,
but nothing came close to wanting
to belong to you
so much.
– Chatty Owl –
“You are twisted
and your tongue permanently tastes of cherries” –
you say,
but I just tie cherry knots
with my fruit-infused tongue,
and laugh at your complaints
of my unapproved manner.
You collect seashells and listen to them,
when you get home,
and it upsets you,
when I say,
that you’re listening
to the sound of your own blood.
Circulating.
You bite your lip
and draw some of that red juice,
as if proving the point
that I’m wrong.
Well, I’m not.
So I just carry on
twisting my tongue
around those cherry stems.
– Chatty Owl –
I leave my pretend reality
on the pillow
every morning,
together with imprints of dreams
that I don’t remember,
once I open my eyes.
Inverted minutes of darkness
become illuminating rays
of present light –
You.
I know you miss me,
I feel your thoughts on my skin –
they descend like a bird
with a broken wing,
in need to find a long-lost home.
I am quiet
and tell you nothing
about other visitors making nests
in the coldness of my hostile arms,
because I don’t want to rush you away
too early,
before I’ve got a chance
to see,
if you will sing to me again,
once healed.
– Chatty Owl –
You play the victim,
but all I see is an abusive coward,
that murdered my mind and got caught.
Words leave your mouth
(that I used to kiss with such a hunger),
and they evoke anger,
because they taste
of a deliberately provoked jealousy in me.
I answer you
in a series of questions,
that leave my heart aching
(and I instantly regret asking),
so I scream,
in order to drown out answers
that you probably won’t dare to even whisper.
You told me,
that she reminded you of me,
but honey,
every man is a spitting image of you,
I just never gave them the pleasure.
Loyalty is measured
by the ever-growing thickness of the rope
that ties us to each other…
and baby,
I’m cutting you loose.
– Chatty Owl –
I refuse
to turn half way to meet your eyes,
and that’s the side of me
you haven’t seen before.
I’m not the one
to offer compromises,
baby.
I watched you from afar
longer than I can remember,
and you never noticed,
how I learned your movements
by heart.
You’re predictable.
And that’s what makes you…
vulnerable.
I smile to false-convince you,
that my naivety is genuine,
but darling,
you just don’t know what I know.
– Chatty Owl –
A bed made for one.
Twisted sheets under thighs.
Lost in a trance of a distant voice,
speaking softly
at first,
until the rough pleasure
creeps into your mind.
No hands smudging your lipstick,
but your own.
Moments couldn’t be more intense,
even if you allowed a chance
for another someone
to touch you.
Refused invitations.
Deleted messages.
Dates,
cancelled –
all, so you could get lost in the reality
you made for yourself.
Social isolation,
in order to fulfil needs of your body,
connecting across oceans
with another.
You.
– Chatty Owl –
Elevated and provocative.
Exposed.
Carved in stone
and burnt in wood.
You are preserved
in every single element of life.
They name you,
yet not applying labels,
and you’re the benchmark
of their beginning and the end.
The paths they take,
it’s all a reference to you –
their dedication is immense.
Erotic.
Blind.
They take their steps
to match your shadow,
and their spine
is in the perfect line
of your bare shoulders.
They wish for that long-waited cross,
a new-breed of human.
You know they think of you
As someone godly.
Are you?
– Chatty Owl –
They look at you
and your clothes tell a story
of last night.
White shirt
with
strangers hair all over it –
it’s like the last straw
to their tolerance.
To your innocence,
that you lost
at the same time
you lost your mind.
(And clothes).
Thin stitchings of dignity
got ripped
as you were sitting on the lap of a stranger.
See-through tops
and
see-through minds
mesh together into a thinning net,
that sets such a strong foundation
for new victims to be caught
and savoured by your lips.
Your shoulders move
in the direction of their gazing eyes,
and you can tell,
that slowly
you are twisting
every
single
one of them
around your fingers
and your toes.
Count them.
Give them names.
You’re famous after all.
– Chatty Owl –
CHATTYOWL 