The last 3 letters of the spring

Just call it what you want.

recent posts

  • Things you don’t know: 

    Not knowing is awful; knowing is worse

    I still wear your hoodies

    I have 14 plants now

    I know you thought I met someone; that's why. I didn't. I was scared you could have. 
    I didn’t want to face her

    My hair is long again 

    I injured my back, and I need to do stupid recovery exercises

    I changed my yoga studio. I do miss my yoga instructor, though. I don't miss the anxiety of
    accidentally running into you

    I still have anxiety about accidentally running into you. It doesn't matter where I go

    I haven't been kissed by someone who actually wants to kiss me in a very long time. 
    Actually no, I haven't been kissed at all

    I will never finish watching Twin Peaks

    I smell your perfume everywhere, for some reason, everyone is into Le Labo Matcha 26 lately

    Remember that dress I wore on our 3rd date? When my flight was delayed by 7 hours, and you asked me to stay at your place. We ordered pizza and watched The Big Bang Theory in your bed. I was giggling like a crazy person, not because the jokes were funny, but because I was happy. Somehow my weird giggling made you happy too. Anyway, I threw it away

    I want to move. Every day. I hate this city. I hate your neighbourhood. I hate that I have to be there three times a week for work. I should have moved two years ago when I got that job offer

    I am jealous as fuck of every single pretty girl I see. Because I imagine her being someone you could like. And that’s absolutely ridiculous, because I don’t even know what your type is. I don’t think I was your type. I think my laugh was infectious, my hair long and shiny, and my eyes sparkly. I don’t think I was your type. I just think my joy was contagious, and you needed some

    I wrote a book

    I had a pretty bad health scare some time ago. I always think there is something wrong with me, but this time there really was

    I got a weighted blanket. It’s heavy and fluffy. It’s like sleeping on a cloud. I hate sleeping alone

    I still have nightmares about random blonde chicks—sometimes I think it’s because I found that blonde hair in your apartment that one time. Other times, I think it’s because you actually cheated with a blonde girl

    I want to reach out all the time, but I don’t. I hate you for not reaching out either

    I want you to kiss my shins—the same way at least once. I don’t miss you. I miss you from October three years ago

    I don’t cook anymore

    I tried to date people—nice people. It never went past date three. The reason was always me

    I kept seeing a black Mercedes with your numbers. I thought I was entering psychosis, then I remembered your dad had one. Two months later, I saw you with a new car. I wasn’t even stalking—it was just there in my face…making sense

    I don’t remember last year. I completely dissociated. I just wrote a lot of poems (and a novel) 

    I didn’t ghost you; I was still in love. I know you hate my guts now

    I am allergic to the sun. lol

    I cried for your birthday, mine too

    I have a coffee date on Thursday. I asked him out because, well, he seems kind. Also, I think you got my sunflowers and chose silence; unbearable shit

    My Monstera is enormous

    I wish you’d knock on my door one evening, on a random Tuesday, maybe bringing me some yellow flowers. No, forget the flowers; you were rushing—no time for flowers—but you had some candy, the pistachio ones, because I like those. You know where I live, but you couldn’t find my name at the intercom, and it was late. You almost left, but then, then you remembered my infectious laugh, so you texted something along the lines of, “Are you home? Are you asleep?” I am obviously home, and I am obviously not asleep; I can’t. I’d text back: “Yes, I am. Did something happen?” “Can you please open the door? I am outside; I need to talk to you,” you’d immediately reply. I’d buzz you in a haze. We won’t talk, not until the morning at least

    We didn’t fix anything. I am still angry as hell

    I went to Vienna. I felt like that chick from that movie

    I’ve discovered I am actually a cat person

    My next relationship will end in marriage. I am not going through another breakup. I am barely surviving this one

    I still eat very slowly

    I went on a good walk today

    I would have never left.

  • I love you; me too

    I am a black cat
    crossing your street at midnight 

    I am a mad man 
    screaming and laughing, then crying and shouting 

    I am a little bit crazy, 
    I mean, I know where you live

    I AM SUCH A RED FLAG

    I want to talk all the time about feelings and their meaning
    You are crashing it at small talk

    (no wonder they broke up, wait…)

    I am a little bit too much
    but you know that already

    I am a faint trace
    crossing your way
    watching your apartment light up from a cold sidewalk
    and then sobbing, and weeping like an overly dramatic 
    female character in a soap opera 

    For fuck's sake

    I AM INVASIVE

    I am a stalker
    I know where you work
    I’ll send you happy-birthday-flowers ‘cause I am so so obsessed 
    I mean, really, I might need a restraining order

    I AM TOXIC

    stuck in a love-hate relationship with logic
    I need professional help

    I am a mindreader
    that’s it
    I know everything

    I am manipulative, compulsive, I am fucked in the head
    the masks fell off, this is the real me—drowning in my own grief
    take it or leave it 

    (no wonder he left, wait…)

    ...

    imagine loving someone and the whole time they hated your guts
    I don’t have to imagine

  • Want

    I imagine a gray, dim day 

as the Eastern European legend has it: 
when it pours, stick a knife in the ground—it will die down—a good luck token
I’ve been told
as a kid I watched my mother fight her fear of thunder 
watched her run towards its core—a heavy sentence—someone has been 
a shitty person—here on earth

    Find the deadliest blade
    Go deeper, darker
    Stab harder, my love, cleaner, no sharp edges 
    You’ve always been better at this kind of stuff; there is a joke here somewhere, there is always a joke, isn’t there?

    Oh, to be loved the way I loved

    You poor, poor child...
    Have they let you wander, kiss their toes, kneel
    like a begging joker?

    A heavy storm is always a curse
    as the story goes:
    you want the skies crying 
    like a feral widow in her 30s
    But no worries, there is always a hero, he’s come to save us!
    Had they spread the word? That first word, that last crisis? A prince charming, a knight in shinning armor and a happily ever after—that's your dragon!
    Had they drunk from an empty cup, evening out the immoral, healing 
    a universal oath, but no worries, there is always a forest hag 
    watching you
    like a feral damsel in distress
    that's your monster!

    Oh, to be desired the way I desired: he bakes sourdough I write poems
    there must be someone 
    there must be some God(s) someone who knows where
    that sweet sweet nothing and my boy 
    are
    I’ve been counting 
    hours, days, blessings
    “he bakes sourdough I write poems”

    I imagine a gray, dim night 
    some yellow flowers
    a knock:
    “I am sorry”
    “me too” 

  • Big Fish

    Nobody is coming
    you are here all alone
    What does that mean?
    I am surrounded by faces 
    white
    black
    most of them blue
    like the sky? yes, like the mirroring ocean
    deep
    and composed 
    as if by disturbing its waters you might awake something long forgotten
    a sea giant? a sea giant. yes. 

    I am just afraid 
    I am still wearing the clown's clothes
    yet I never said anything funny
    and he’s laughing, bursting in
    tears 
    flaming out 
    all over the floor 
    his shoes lined up at the door 
    That’s the joke!!!
    did you get it?

    I am just afraid
    the cage’s golden
    yet I am not a bird I do not sing I do not fly
    I am just inside
    Is that the pun? Oh, I see!!!
    "A stayer, yet never a keeper" (she laughed not anymore)

    Remember when you thought you'd be over it in a month?!
    yeah...

    I am just afraid
    I’d watch him holding a hand he didn’t let go of
    as in clinging? no. as in needing. "needing" what an interesting word...
    "tom-ay-to" "tom-ah-to"

    All my married friends say that I must stop looking 
    I am just afraid she’d be blonde, do you understand? one day I’d be breathing the same air;
    walking past her not knowing, that the night before he told her all about me and by "all" 
    I mean "nothing". "nothing" what a wonderful word! "what was she like?"
    A catch, but not to be kept, just for the photo. (she laughed he did not)

    nobody’s coming —
    back — offensive shit tbh 



    * * * 

    "Is that really your favourite movie? But it's a fairytale?!"

    (Nobody asked. Nobody answered.)

  • midsummer, flowers of the sun…

    July is ending
    I am eating peaches in my apartment in Prague:
    it looks like a place where 
    someone who dances unclothed and then rage-cleans the bathroom 
    lives
    My plants are taking over my office corner, also
     the floors 
    I am 27 years old (my knees would disagree)
    my bedsheets are white and the windows wide open 

    I haven’t left my home all day
    my whole body is sore

    yet I’ll never be happier, you know that, right?

    I’ll make some pasta for dinner
    and maybe finish writing a poem
    I'll put together an outfit for tomorrow 
    I’ll look very nice, but you know that already 
    Love is a Sunday afternoon at the end of July 
    3 years ago
    Love is a Sunday afternoon at the end of July
    now

    My bedsheets are white and the windows wide open 
    I’ll watch `Madagascar later
    I know, not in step with the times
    but the Odyssey's sold out 2 weeks before last

    and maybe
    that is the point
    my unmade bed full of pillows 
    some pasta
    a look
    ...still
    longing 
    It feels like we've been here already
    had peaches in Prague, in my far gone apartment 
    and I said:
    "I wish I could meet you in every life"
    and you said that I would 

    sounded like a promise ngl


  • gentleman caller called

    I had this dream where I was wearing nothing
    You were there too also wearing nothing 
    but it wasn't really you
    as in the you I always wanted

    Have I finally come to my senses?

    One word, just one word
    repeat after me: “...”
    Come one!
    you know the drill
    I just need to hear you say it
    use your beautiful jawline and your beautiful mouth, use your beautiful arm and your beautiful rib
    I am so 
    … 

    Oh, you still can't 
    that's ok, my darling, I understand 
    that's enough for tonight 
    how was your summer
    how was your autumn 
    how was your winter
    I heard you’ve been playing 
    hard 
    to get 
    like a first time rat

    All of this [Imagine throwing up in a bathroom and then accidentally choking on a tiny piece of apple; imagine, for years, being screamed at for never being like the other child; imagine even your imaginary friend starving itself] Oh, it was such a great idea—I’ve been thriving ever since, I agree, I've been doing...well (?)

    I am so beautiful now
    and my clothes are very chic—like the French girls; styling the sadness with loafers and the eye bags with oversized jackets [khaki and black]

    You should see me 
    so self-sufficient so cool 
    I make espressos to die for and run like I am hunted 
    One minute I am dancing naked and the next 
    I am crying, dying 
    to text you
    something stupid, like, I saw it, I know!!! Just say it, one word, I am so "..." 
    come on
    let's do it!
    pretend it didn't happen
    all of this [Imagine throwing up in a bathroom and then accidentally choking on a tiny piece of apple; imagine, for years, trembling at the thought of someone holding your hand; even your imaginary friend be stalking him stalking you]
    ‘cause you know
    I heard you've been doing so so "FINE", even though 
    you should see me now—
    I am so cool so less needy so less clingy

    You should see me and 
    my awesome new apartment 
    you should come over some time 
    have a coffee
    I am making espressos to die for
    my tiramisu is so much better, you should really try it!!!

    One minute I am dancing and the next I am dialing a “DO NOT CALL” 
    One minute I am dating and the next I am returning home alone because “wtf just happened” because wtf is everybody looking like him [they DO NOT] 

    Imagine throwing up in a bathroom and then accidentally choking on a tiny piece of apple; 
    I had this dream where I was wearing nothing.
    You were there too also wearing nothing, 
    playing hard to kill like a first time snake.


  • /aɪ lʌv ju nɑt/


    It’s no secret
    breakups are all the same:
    there is the one who leaves—
    before being left, and the one that never does
    when they go, they take you with them
    all that remains, are simply remains; the shell
    call it an empty house if you want
    the optimists would name it a "canvas"
    too bad I am not one of those — in my reality, the snail has died
    hovered in self-pity
    and how stupid, after all, the up is down and the down is down under
    it’s not that hard (that’s what she said “ahahaha”)
    just fix the tilt before it gets fixed, if you know what I mean (smiley face)

    So you are telling me he’s read all that and nothing changed
    "How much longer are you going to keep fixing it, bro?" Just cut the goddamn cord!

    It’s all me, I understand — I am deluded
    however, I’ve always been slightly insecure; there is no need to scream about it
    I told you off record, whoever’s keeping it — there must be a score!

    anyway

    What if the worst is true and it turns out that my soft soft sweet boy is a two-faced whore
    things like that would drive me mad
    actually wait! mad’s a big word — I am on the edge of a very tall building, looking down at them, ants aka giants in someone else’s poems, am I ready to jump? not now; not yet
    we are still missing the plot of the story 
    all of this, just a dramatic pause — building up towards a taller tale

    So, where was I? 
    at the what if my “oh, my soft soft boy is actually a coward” is that right? 
    would he sell me for a bag of gold 
    not even
    a coin
    or a moment of acknowledgement from someone of refined quality 
    not necessarily of substance
    as long as it shines brighter in the spotlight 
    I am afraid I am always a shadow
    a mirror if you want
    yet never a diamond

    I hope the grass was greener, my darling

    I hope new york is waiting
    I hope you’ll move into a bigger apartment, somewhere I didn’t swallow
    words (what did you think? you pervs!)
    what about my pride
    what about my anger
    not that it would have mattered, I am just saying — I hope you start clean 

    This city is forcing me out 
    Who am I to say something?


  • Muscle Memory


    This morning I reached for you all hazed
    I bet it makes me sound pathetic
    but, how would you know?
    you see
    I’ve been going through some “stuff” lately
    by lately I mean, for over two years

    that’s how you become a junkie I guess 

    I needed to face THE loss (repeat a lie long enough and it becomes the truth)
    and now that I faced it — so close that if someone had asked me how your neck tasted I’d say: nivea body soap for men with a musky afterglow; I am 
    both the king and the knight running with the tail between my legs
    drawing a seeker
    forcing an endgame in someone else’s race

    `since I am so good at beguiling
    How come I never beat you at chess?


    What is a coward when time means nothing
    this morning I reached for you all dazed
    sleeping in the middle of the bed pretending I like it
    to tell you the truth (yk, because I am so good at deceiving and steering)
    I’d rather build a fortress of cushions and pillows between us

    that’s how you become a junkie I guess 

    Recovering from this madness
    longer than the actual crash
    I can’t move when I am anxious, I need a minute!!!
    shivering with some made up fever 
    waking up in terror in my queen-sized bed— leftover love for breakfast— his buried resentment wasting more moves, and the life I imagined 
    creeping up on me from the other side
    you don’t fuck with the fear
    the fraud’s having the jitters, don’t you see? 
    It’s all shaking 
    yet you can’t help it—it’s all invented 🙂


    I was always afraid, at knifepoint I’ll be more in love 
    that motherfucker is still lingering like an obedient servant; 
    remembering


  • [My]—poem

    I will eventually leave
    I will pack my bags, yes, the plants too, all the russian dolls
    and the hand written letters
    nothing screams like heartache as ferocious as a birthday card:

    the evidence of a life unnoticed—all I wanted was to be known 

    if you had failed to see me
    you should have just said so
    I would have packed my bags early
    yes, the yellow flowers too
    nothing screams like enmity as plainly as an empty vase
    I now, darling, know, nothing screams like loss as lousy as a called off chase 
    an easy street paving the way for greatness, unless you are doing the tracing, then it’s all downhill from there

    I will eventually leave
    trust me, I will
    Don't you think I won’t! I will gather all my strength and “try again”
    like it never happened
    and this is the first time I write something heartfelt and dramatic,
    these being the first words:

    all I wanted was to be the poem
    …
    at least once 

    even now
    scrawling these lines
    catching glimpses in windows with no one to bear witness

    all I ever wanted was to be reached for 

    looking back at the time 
    when
    you were mine 
    and I was typing some rhymes
    unnamed, not yet read
    in a language too foreign 
    too lonely 

    put down the 3 letter violence: ”shall we rename this as [MY]—poem?” 

    I will eventually stop
    carrying all this baggage 

    no note to bear witness

    “Will you take care of my plants while I am gone?”     what a gratuitous service
    It’s my poem! It always has been.

  • Things I noticed about you:

    The panic in your eyes when I took that first picture. You were sitting in your armchair in your living room, holding your phone, looking through me—you will never be more beautiful.

    How much you loved lions of any kind, and when we went to the zoo just to see one. I remember I was scared of getting too close; you said as long as I was with you, I’d be fine. Right.

    Your love for cats.

    How much you are like your aunt—by the way, I don’t know how to break it to you, but I am pretty sure she’s gay. I am pretty sure we already discussed this. Then we probably laughed. Then we probably made love.

    You cried when I cried—and considering I cried a lot, man, that must have sucked for you.

    How you locked me in a small mental box and buried it somewhere far, far down; how from someone you loved I became a crazy stalker, a mentally deranged person. You went from kissing my shins to avoiding me on the streets; from stroking my hair to fucking coworkers; from like-liking me to discarding my things like they were of no use. I mean, what did you do with the love?

    That last dinner we had—you didn’t wait for me to finish eating.

    How you hated beets, my mispronounced words, or being seen. Sometimes I think that’s the reason.

    The hesitation in your voice when I asked if you wanted me; the insecurity in your “yes”. Have you noticed the despair in my question? That I had to phrase it; that I had to voice it.

    All this silence.

    Your green sneakers—that you would have let me pass you by.

    How much I reminded you of your mother; the way I made the bed, washed the dishes right after, and always needed to control everything—especially you. Isn’t that what you think?

    How you’d rather never speak to me again than face the loss; than ask for help; than feel the weight of abandoning someone important.

    All this silence.

    You tried to break up with me at a lousy beer place, but I ordered only sides and somehow that changed your mind—for about a week.

    How my longing feels like pressure, yet my distance feels like treason; that you will never forgive me for missing you or writing these poems (it’s all the same); how I will never forgive myself for staying so long. I should have left the first time my stomach dropped, but we both know I didn’t really mean it. 

    How you still look for your father’s approval: the car, the job, the apartment, the “I am proud of you, son”. But does he really know you? 

    How you kissed my shins; my arms; my face…

    See…I noticed everything. That’s why you left, isn’t it?