Sejla Srna
FatherGrey stains under eyelashes;
faster than humming birds you shake in your sleep, clench fists full of nothing, bite lips lacking kisses, curl toes, twist guts, gnaw nails. There’s a crack in the door from kicks of misplaced anger, passionate touches from knuckles, and games of catch with wine bottles. You throw me resentment, confusion, repressed memories, lost childhood friends, war scars, lust for death, and a mother selling lies. I forgive you. GirlsLet’s write about girls
that were pretty when they stepped out of the shower, and now its been 8 days and their hair is messy and dirty, but not in the pretty-girl-way Let’s write about girls who haven’t shaved their legs since they noticed stretch marks on their thighs and realised skirts were not an option Let’s write about girls whose guts stick out if they raise their arms too high, and their bums are too big to stay hidden when they pick up lucky pennies Let’s write about girls who can’t be painted while they’re crying, or laughing, or sleeping - because crooked teeth and big red noses aren’t worthy of a frame When Spring StrikesWhen spring strikes
and I am laying half awake in bed, alone I will call your name, I will whistle the melody of our wedding song, I will touch my lips, looking for bite marks you left so long ago When spring strikes it will hit me like a train; March was when we made first promises - you sneezed and scoffed at all the flowers blossoming, the smell of grass was your worst enemy now it’s not so scary, now you sneeze at the smell of distance, time, and lost letters I wait impatiently to hold your hand again Dwarves III will endure all heartbreaks you are responsible for,
because you are the person I envisioned when I decided to let myself breathe. You are the cliche-boy, with scruffy hair and skinny arms, and eyes big enough to replace the moon. I will never tire of writing of you, no matter how angry it makes me; You will forever be my poem, my book, my unsent letters, the words in my fingers, the epic in my bones. You are naive, and gullible - Forever lost in rivers of blue-eyed girls that think you are their’s. Forever lost in your mother’s arms, and your father’s unspoken love. I found you in a forest, I found you on a bench and let you find home in my eyes. When you pull apart the pillars I will build it back up with limbless trees, and keep you safe behind eyelash-curtains. |
SarajevoI want to run away sometimes,
not from home but to home. Back to cracked roads, and unfinished houses - I want to kiss on the bridge Franz and Sophia died on. I want to sneak into cathedrals, stare into the lights and colors; envying a God that isn’t mine. I want to lean on Austro-Hungarian walls while Egyptian ice cream gives me brain freeze. I want espresso 10 times a day, crepes at midnight beside eternal flames, and book stores, kissing couples and laughing friends. I want the passion, the love, the constant music of the city. Kept safe by the mountains, thirst quenched with rivers, put to sleep only on a Monday - even then still slightly dancing to the hum of Sunday’s song. filtered photographsfilling rooms with instruments
and untouched records, on-purpose-coffee-stains and the smell of cigarettes so when someone walks in the thought 'oh, an artist!' may come to mind but we all know you spent an hour puffing smoke into your clothes and bedsheets developing a strong cough because you don’t really enjoy spending your last 5 bucks on a pack of Lucky Strikes aspiring to look creative never aspiring to create TerminalI’ve let my hair grow long,
so when you meet me at the terminal you can brush it behind my ear, as I seduce you with my see-through blouse flowing over scraped knees, lined with fallen, frizzy hairs that used to tickle you awake. Wish ListIf I could make a list
of all the things I’ve ever wanted (since the day I knew what a list was), and I knew I’d get it all, I’d be left with one thing I’d cross out my hopes and dreams, the perfect house and perfect skin, immortality and the ability to do cartwheels; all I really want is you I’d send the list to the Gods and they’d be grateful for it’s length - only your name on the top and bottom and scribbled all over the page with clumsy little hearts surrounding every corner I’d write: P.S. That’s all, nothing else, only this for eternity. And I’d send them all my records, books, and even hats to show them I really mean it - Including a box of chocolates to seal the deal |