Tag: writing

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BIRTHMARK

Faint smirk.
Hair up.
I hide away
in your over-sized shirt –
it’s all buttons
down the front.
Open.

I have no wish to do them up.

You notice my bones
and decide to force-feed me
compliments
about the colour of my skin,
that apparently
always fascinated you –
it’s creamy beige
with two distinctive birth marks.

You only saw one of them.

I flick
thin pages of the notebook
and see your fingers
tapping
a silent melody
on my coffee table.
I’d like to tell you to
quit it,
but it reminds me
of those better days,
when I craved
those fingers
to leave
little
pinky
bruises
on my hips.
This is why
I don’t stop you
from making me
drift off
into those
memories –
you tease me with them
and I tease you
by crossing my legs
in front of your face.

Cliche,
but you always bite your lip
uncontrollably,
when you accidentally see
what’s between them.

Let’s fight the silent war
of a mutual arousal.

– Chatty Owl –

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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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TEASING

Suggestive phrases
twirl inside my mind
and you wonder,
if anything I write is about you.
Would you like to know the truth?
My mouth spits out
flirtatious words
at those sensitive moments,
when your eyes melt into tears,
and I have to stop myself
from wanting to wipe them
with my lips,
because the taste of your sadness
is the one
I survive on.
Paper-thin clothes
hide the intrigue
that we are both longing after,
and every time
my curves change the shape of the fabric,
your thoughts start dancing a quickstep
of adult-rated visions.
We both smirk at each other,
knowing,
that one day
it might become
a questionable reality.

– 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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MOMENTUM

You are nothing
but a vague distraction
from all my lazy coffee drinking,
foggy afternoons
and
busy thoughts,
that
I am trying to ignore.
You are
a mere and utter entertainment,
for when my eyes are bored
to read the words
of someone famous.
I turn to you.
All foreign sayings
lead in one direction –
chase.
We’re like a pair of fluffy kittens,
fiddling with the ball.
Or balls.
Or other body parts of such.
You run,
I wait.
I run,
you catch.
I stand,
you wait.
For more attention.
Never-ending cycle.
Easy, right?
We change momentum,
time to time,
but all it changes
is our lust,
which is, ironically,
just disappearing faster.

– Chatty Owl –

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A PLACE UNDER A MOON

Can’t.
You just can’t
see my green eyes,
when I close them
in that moment of
you pleasuring me
with your words,
because I don’t want you
to see
the broken bones
inside me,
while I mouth your name
and think of another.
Secret words
were losing thrill
as they became
pronounced too often
and when even more secrets
came out,
I just wanted to leave
the room,
the street,
the city,
but most of all,
I wanted you to leave my heart.
You spun me round
to screw hard
with my head
and those faint promises
were all lined up,
like soldiers
against the nazi wall,
that wasn’t strong enough
to hold the weight of our sins
(that you didn’t even consider serious!)
and everything went collapsing
in front of my green eyes,
that couldn’t cry
anymore.

– 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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VERBAL INTERCOURSE

I hear r’s in your words
and it makes me
somewhat jealous,
that this sound
makes me tremble
with an urge
to feel your wet tongue
inside my open mouth.
Warm
hands
were holding my face
as you whispered sentences
out loud
and I couldn’t stop
sucking
the sweet sugar dew
off your lips,
when they met mine.
Suspended wrists,
ankles tied together,
tease your curiosity
with the deprived view
of all that’s me
and we both
end up
questioning,
why we haven’t done this
sooner.

– Chatty Owl –

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BUTTERFLIES

Sometimes…
No, often.
I wonder,
how do those butterflies
get inside my tummy?
How?
How do they have the power
to lift me up
and let me float
in this dream
with their colourful wings inside me,
reminding…
there were
your fingers there instead.
Once.

Sometimes…
No, often.
I wonder,
how do their colourful wings
mix shades with one another
and then just…
leave me.
One by one.
Until I find myself empty
and
longing for that warm feeling,
just below my bellybutton.
How?

– Chatty Owl –