The last 3 letters of the spring

Just call it what you want.

recent posts

  • 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 get it!
    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" vs. "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?

  • tag up


    “Things always get worse before they get better”
    <<how worse?>>

    you’ll drown yourself in work
    imaginative work
    and imaginative effort making someone richer
    yet it’s never you
    <<not you>>

    “If you think something is off, then something is off" 
    <<always trust your gut!>>
    I used to throw up in random bathrooms just because
    I knew they wouldn't notice
    Back then, things were strange as a factum: she didn’t have any friends, she’d talk to herself as her fans
    How do you trust some insides after that? 
    <<It’s all twisted and there is blood everywhere>>

    If he ran while I stayed, does that make me a loser?
    A game I never planned to play, I’d win only in theory, ‘cause at the end of the day: 
    I stare at strangers and smell him in open-air cinemas 
    I could be blind and still see him, oh wait, I actually am!
    <<never mind>>


    “If it’s meant to be, it will be”
    He marked the path with breadcrumbs before I crossed his way
    Sure, but I am running in circles—that’s always a grave  
    Or has my witchcraft backfired?

    Where was I and why didn’t I notice?

    I should have known something was off 
    when I bit him and there was a blood bath—
    biting is a love language only when full
    <<what a fool!>>
    He marked the path with breadcrumbs so I never get home 
    joke’s on me: I thought he was it. Where was I and why didn’t I notice?




  • Knock ’em dead

    and it’s not that you left 
    and it’s not your stupid neighborhood I can’t avoid 
    and it's not your stupid apartment I can see from the sidewalk
    and it's not our weekends in bed, which now I spend in the gym
    and it’s not me hating this city
    and hiding and hiding
    blaming the heatwave
    in truth I am just scared—it’s like missing a step, violently waking you up—or a lascivious sleep paralysis demon, lusting

    and it’s not that you left 
    I promise it’s not
    I’ve seen worse
    I’ve lived worse
    I am broken I am ugly I am lonely
    I’ve heard this before


    and it’s not your new car
    I bet it makes you look cool; I can tell it’s working, in fact, I am proud, so proud (!)
    I bet it felt good to see me seeing you: then conceding; then spiralling 
    all under 5 seconds 
    ‘cause your win and my loss—it’s like falling inwards; getting smaller and smaller until you are a dot and then nothing—I used to be the whole world
    I wanted a coffee 
    pointless to say I didn’t get anything
    pointless to say I didn’t want to be there anymore
    all under 5 seconds 
    Essentially meaning crazy—isn't that always the case

    And it’s not the fact that I want to throw up every time I think I see you—what kind of ptsd is that? 

    Or crying in the stupid bathroom AGAIN
    ‘cause what…he’s moved on? he seemed fine? 
    life’s unfair? all I did was to notice
    next time I won’t care I swear

    and it’s not even all that
    I promise it’s not
    It’s all ranting just like he said


    The blind treason—If I didn’t stop to fix my trousers—something as simple as that
    I would have missed it 
    I would have gotten a coffee as planned

    he wouldn't have seen my blue top, and my neck looking nice like that
    he wouldn't have known I spiralled and cried in the bathroom
    I wouldn't have known he got a new car

    I honestly thought I’d have a decent day when I woke up—what kind of dark humor is that? 
    I bet he’d appreciate the flatness 

    It’s always the eyes; knocks me dead

  • the city hag

    I was gone for too long
    I forgot how to love this city
    Its streets


    I didn't realize I had been unhappy until late Sunday morning in your bed. You left me sleeping — on your way back you brought sweets.


    I went very deep very down that rabbit hole
    On the other side I met a gray-haired, sun-kissed
    wise woman

    She got everything I wanted
    the golden boy and the white fence, no (!) make it an attic apartment
    the yoga studio across the street and the neighbor with the crazy dolls watching 
    us 
    against the window
    she cooked the parsley from your fridge and finished the ice-cream 


    I was “over” it for so long
    I forgot how to love this misery
    Its blonde hair 

    I didn’t realize I had been lonely until it was mid-December. I was rushing to meet you like I was a kid and there were presents to open on Christmas. The door ajar—I was there—bringing you cupcakes; being so glad…