Our stories add up
like multiplying numbers –
a progression
that has no end in your mind,
but digresses in sadness
that already met its end.
Suddenly nothing sums up –
life is all about a lottery,
wishful thinking is a promise of better days,
but in the end…
…it’s just a useless piece of
floating paper
you throw in the air.


Mute correspondence of thoughts
gets thrown around in skies above us
and floats freely,
criss-crossing paths
with one another –
it reminds me of those days
when I just imagined you existed.

I created you
over years and years
of pre-sleep dreaming,
musing about all the things
you would do to my body.
I invented the shape of your eyes
and almost felt
the lace of my underwear
as you undressed me
with that delirious stare
from the opposite corner of the room.

A feverish passion
scalded the inside of my veins,
and I knew
it can’t be just a temporary madness –
you were my chronic illness,
that I never wanted to be cured of.

Feeling sick to my stomach,
I put my kisses on hold
and cuffed myself
to a permanent state of confusion,
that left me light-headed and dizzy.
Just like that feeling you get,
when you dive under water
against your will,
and suddenly the fear of death
becomes a welcoming thought
of a translucent euphoria,
and all you can do is close your eyes
and faint into golden waves
of a welcoming self destruction,
that glimmers in the sun-lit-surface
of the water above you –
a surreal feeling,
that sways to the rhythm of a dying heart.


Time trots
around gates of my guarded walls,
one second at a time,
reminding me
that every day it’s easier and easier
to guess those final words
of your noiseless sentences.

My intuition has never failed me yet,
and I know that one day
we’ll end up as strangers
on opposite sides of the road –
politely smiling,
as we pass each other every morning,
we’ll be insignificant to one another.

Once all animal urges are fulfilled,
we all commute alone.

– Chatty Owl –


You hit me
with news that squeak
like rats. Escaping.
I eye each one of them,
fighting the instinct of an inner cat
inside me.
I can’t.
I just can’t chase
every word you throw at me –
there’s too many of them
for one little me.

I’ve been given a choice
that wasn’t one after all,
so I escape too –
like the colour from a rosebud.
I know I have to leave
and drain all presence of me
into the river that’s
you –
been poisoned with other colours already,
and no matter how vivid they once were,
they are dirty brown

But I’m staying pure.
An antonym of this messy situation.
I’m done,
leaving you to lick your guilt
sparkling clean

– Chatty Owl –


promised me
Carefully polished
leather and direct words
that would make me quiver.
Shivering veins of my naive young
body were promised to pump
lust and obedience – a
substance I have


hands were meant
to be guiding me through
ups and downs of my breathing
chest, that holds a heart –
excited and fast for a
moment like this.

A mental

– Chatty Owl –


You hate me
for the mistakes of my grandfather
that I carry in my
mighty DNA
of numbers,
but this is me,
with my body
and voice,
and the green-ness of my eyes,
talking to you
in a voice of a girl,
poetry of a woman,
and wisdom of a human
that married my grandfather
(that you hate so much),
but you love me,
So don’t judge the book
by it’s blood

– Chatty Owl –


I was 17
when you bumped into me
and picked me up
like a rotten apple
from the side of the road.
Not fit to eat, but
still juicy,
still with a smell of a fruit,
under your teeth and
on your inquisitive tongue.
You observe me
as I put spells on aluminium spoons,
bending them,
like I bend men to my liking,
making me
not a witch,
but a magician of sorts.
Don’t forget,
the reality is
the invisible infinity
we all fear.

– Chatty Owl –


I remember the green-patterned fabric
of the smoke-enhanced sofa
that we used to spend hours on
in the most horizontal position possible,
and how you told me to ignore
the sound of the pocket watch you had,
as it ticked from seven to eight to nine,
and I knew it’s that time now,
when my face will be buried
in those red-stitched flowers of a thick quilt.
It was like waiting for a permission
to tear the wrapping
off the present
just to find out
it’s not what you’ve wished for.
My mind is good at keeping
little unimportant details about the past.
I remember a frayed label on your black sweatshirt,
and it was the only piece of clothing
that witnessed me going
into a vertical position after a very long time.
You imprinted a permanent habit in me
to always look at men’s shoes,
because you told me
that is the only thing that intimidates them.
if they are looking at you
and craving sex.

It was such a good tactic of defense,
I think I knew all shoes in my city.

– Chatty Owl –


A fantasy. A dream
that I woke up from.
My fractured mind wanted you so badly.
Like an injured fox,
I craved you to look at me.
After me.
Through me.

I wanted you to feel me from inside
allow me to glow in your spotlight.

To belong to you
is something I’m so scared of.
I want to feel your firm hand,
tender kisses,
strict commands
and your sweet orders.


I’m hiding in the cave
with a twisted ankle and an injured heart,
leaving me unable to walk to you
in this dream turned

– Chatty Owl –


My limbs are numb –
your ropes left scars
on my wrists and ankles,
my mind is senseless –
a callused heart,
once pumping love,
now replaced it with hate.
We exchanged words of affection
with anticipation of being happy together,
yet the reality was brutal,
and your hands took more to bruising
than they ever did to taking care of me.
Your fingers pulled my hair
and scratched a branded mark,
as if I was your territory,
when all I wanted to do,
was to feel your warm pulse on my lips,
that throbbed in the rhythm of love.
How naive and submissive I was
to think that desire is measured
in bruised ribs
and the amount of pain I am able to stand.
Like a spider, you crawled on top of me,
depriving me breath,
and when I died in your arms,
it wasn’t a poetic reflection
of love and devotion –
it was the murder of my soul.

– 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 –