aleatory

dobila sam nove olovke
pišu debelo i masno, crno kao noć
žvrljam po papiru, po zidu, podu i plafonu
plešem sa olovkom u ruci
graciozno
kao kakva balerina
iscrtavam krugove oko sebe
velike krugove čiji prečnici broje kilometre

napravila sam nove olovke
zapravo
izrezbarila ih od drveta koje niče u meni
precizno
kao pravi drvodelja
ove su olovke teške kao arturov mač
samo ih najhrabriji
mogu taći

stvorila sam nove olovke
iznedrila
iz krvavog ponora smrvljenih srca svih prethodnih olovaka
svi su voleli moje bojice
šarene i pastelne
nežne
sem mene
jer njihove su linije bile
isprekidane
i
nejasne

možda će sad umeti bolje da boje unutar linija

i cried the least
but screamed so much my voice left scratches on my soul
until there was just an empty screen
left of a person i know

it should be admired
my habit of settling for inevitable loss

one more question from the audience
but the answer doesn’t change

i have just enough dignity left
to not act hurt out loud
but my mind is saying words i didn’t even know existed

the mountain nymph sleeps in this room
the coordinates are the same
i am not
your new world through the looking glass
watch out for the water is deep
and the mirror has two faces

pitali su me
bila je jedna
o njoj se ne pišu pesme osim ove

ona kad uđe u sobu vreme se pretvori u slow motion
svet iza nje – sepia filter
ona ne nosi boje i od aksesoara ima samo svoje ime
ona je uvek sama
ona uvek dolazi kasnije nego što treba
kaže izvinite a misli pojela sam život za doručak
moje prisustvo je ovde svečanost kakva se ne viđa
pratim njen hod po pisti između stolova
njoj ne treba crveni tepih
ona ulazi u sobu da kaže
jutros sam opet porodila svet
ona nema pitanje ima stejtment
ona ne nosi štikle u njima se ne može rolati skejt po gradu
ona je do desne klupe u zadnjem redu pogledom gasila pikavce oko sebe
pisala mi je duge mejlove
sve sama kurtoazija
ako ne znaš gde je votermark
ona je jednom imala pitanje
zapravo nije bilo pitanje nego stejtment
jebeš tu kurtoaziju
znaš ono kad nije postojalo zamrzavanje slike
i glumci stajali nepomično dok njihova imena mile preko ekrana
slow motion sepia filter
može li se klikom sačuvati trenutak
kad je zagrliš ruke ti se iza nje spoje
ona je šredingerova mačka i kad je tu
o njoj se ne pišu pesme osim ove
ona je uvek sama
da li sam poslednji put odmotala nepotrebni crveni tepih za nju

sometimes i imagine sitting at a desk
it may be a cold winter evening of a warm morning in the spring
the only sound i hear are mouse clicks and keyboard buttons
while the words roll out in front of me on a blank piece of digital paper

sometimes i will look out the window at the trees
the 20 second rule
but more often i will turn around
and find you working somewhere behind me
and my eyes will stick to you like the first touch of honey on the tongue

mouse clicks and keyboard buttons
maybe that is what they call home

i am calm
through the round window i see a star
we are headed north
some old men sitting behind me say he’s gone out of line
a bit
i am tired
i do not want to explain
this revolution

one row away a little girl is crying
two seats from me, another girl shares her colouring pens with her
there is some good left in the world
but somehow it always flies across the border

in the last months i have spilled myself everywhere
like a coffee gone bad
i have pieces of me in places unknown
i have rediscovered myself
but i am not sure it was worth it

i think
if we go down i will remain calm
i will think of my mom
and my dad and my sister and my grandparents
and my cats
i will be content
that they all know
i will put my hands in my lap
and wait

i have lived a good life

when my ribcage feels too tight
i will cry and i will cry and i will cry
pour myself a glass of storm
i will build myself a boat
i will tear myself apart
to set me free, and i will part
i will leave this all behind

when my bones crack you will see
just a smile under your feet
flowers growing in the soil
that i planted long ago
somewhere out there, in the sky
the clouds make room for me to fly
this has never been my home

sometimes
i can feel you melting under my words
not an avalanche
drop by drop
revealing what used to be
invisible to the eye

maybe once
the thought of peeling my skin off
in front of you
was painful enough
i never though pain could feel so light
that one could forget it hurts

maybe one day
i will remember the touch of the needle
on my collarbone
a desperate need
i know you can never tell me my fortune
hidden among the stars

i was okay
with never hearing your voice again
with your backpack at 7 in the morning
being the last part of you i ever see

i was okay
with the miles in between and the flights never taken
with the instability that would never be mine
with the silence that comes afterward and memories that stay just that

i was okay
with your number being one of those i will look back to after 10 years and think
did i know him from somewhere
before deleting it from my phone book

i was okay with one-night stands, see-you-laters, i-will-call-yous, have-a-safe-trips and other white lies we leave as band-aids to rip off when it becomes safe

now i think okay was just the calm before the storm
because when i look at him
i cross everything off my checklist
and yet it doesn’t come close to you
it’s 40-love
except nobody told me that 40 never wins the match
but does the other side?

there was no fear
no anxiety
and no heartbeat to hear
the eyelids had never felt so heavy
and i’d never fought so hard to keep them open

and yet i slipped away

i didn’t tell you i never cried
as i usually would

i can’t express myself well, i say
but little do you know
it has nothing to do
with language