She Was My Heroine

I forbid you to cry
I forbid you to love
I forbid you dreams.

I forbid you to talk
I forbid you to look
You’re lesser than me.


You are so young
You are not pretty
You are second class.

You risk so much
You dream too much
Look at my pass.


He wants all this
He is okay
You are crazy!

He is so happy
He is loved
You need a doctor!


She was my heroine,
Now she is far from that
And he’s far from everything.

She was my star
Now she just collects stars
And he’s no longer in that sky.

– March 17th 2015 and June 19th 2016.

This was hard to write. For one, most of the lines in this poem, including the “yelled” ones are true. The speaker and the person she criticises throughout observe the same person throughout. Who is actually mad here?


My name
My fault
My middle initial
My fault
My year of birth
My fault
My tentative birth date
My fault
My actual birth date
My fault
My eye colour
My fault
My city of birth
My fault
The languages I speak
My fault
My major
My fault
My hobbies
My fault
Not a pretty girl
My fault
Not wanting to be one
My fault
Not cooperative
My fault
Dressing the way I do
My fault
My temperament
My fault
My fault
Just standing there
My fault
Hitting people
My fault
My fault
Staring some more
My fault
Not knowing my type
My fault
Not accepting my type
My fault
Being snappy
My fault
Enjoying it
My fault
Hating it
My fault
Not being proud of it
My fault
Wanting it
My fault
Getting it
My fault
Keeping it a secret
My fault
Having an ego
My fault
Not having an ego
My fault
Taunting you
My fault
Not saying a word
My fault
My fault
My fault
Not being OK
My fault
Accepting the reality
My fault
Brainwashing myself
My fault
Wishing you the best
My fault
My fault
My fault
Getting angry
My fault
My fault
Wishing you the worst
My fault
Coming back
My fault
Not knowing what to do
My fault
Wanting redemption
My fault

– May 28th and June 05th, 2016

He Calls Me Yugoslavia

He calls me Yugoslavia,
Asks for my name each time.
He likes my blue hat
And I watch the chicken spin.

I’m away from his Galaxy
On my thoughtful spot
I’m roaming through pebbles
Searching for what I am not.
I’m staring at the wooden chairs
Wondering why they are wooden.
The horizon seems so far away.

I keep my pebbles in a plastic box.
I hear his voice in my head to this day
Just saying “Yugoslavia?”

They all ask “Yugoslavia?!”
And don’t judge for a second.
I don’t know the whole story
One day, it will make sense.

I’ll be away from his Galaxy
On my thoughtful spot,
I’ll be roaming through pebbles
Knowing what I am not.
I’ll be staring at the wooden chairs
I think I like them wooden
The horizon will be behind me.

I keep my biggest shell on the cupboard.
I put it on my ear every single day.
Time to bring it a new friend.

– May 12th, 2016

This is not a poem about a crush. The protagonist is ten years old and repulsed what might or not be the teenage boy’s advances; but since she has nothing but the fondest of the fond memories, even the boy who sells chicken teasing her are good at this point. The word Galaxy is capitalised on purpose and no, it has nothing to do with Star Wars.

The Generator

I belong to those who carry different horns,
You belong to whatever floats your boat,
I am never bored,
I take everything I like with me
And roll down the hills
Until it’s a part of me.
And you?
Do you even know?

You never needed wind chimes,
For you’re a walking generator,
And at a certain point
It’s just no longer right.
What if the whole world was an ocean
And the only thing you had to lean on
Was just a floating buoy?

A generator, chasing your own tail
But never getting anywhere near the exit of your dreamworld.

And I lie that it’s beautiful,
I lie that it’s wonderful,
While I would never live that way.

And you claim it’s possible,
You claim it’s doable,
While you never lived this way.

– February 09th, 2015

Written in a different state of mind from now. I was really, really angry with somebody over a bunch of things – some of which would probably still make sense, some of which I almost certainly misunderstood over the course of many years, some of which they probably never did in the first place…and so on. Since that somebody appears in many of my other poems and recently, none of it is in negative context (!), I thought I’d share an example of my both justified and unjustified anger.

I have no idea what the last two verses are about. The rest was likely projected anger at myself as well, because I didn’t want to admit that I behave this way, too; and that only my circumstances make me step out of the “dreamworld”.

The Kuiper belt

The Kuiper belt!
Frightening lights in complete darkness
A lot of them on the edge, so edgy
A lot of misguided little missiles
A lot of dangerous little rocks
But I’m not just any object
I am not just a Plutoid
I’m Pluto

I may not be too luminous
But the light just blinds
Who needs that much light?
Aren’t we all light?

Screw the atmosphere
There is no atmosphere
I don’t do atmosphere
I don’t atmosphere
What you see is what it is

I may cross you
I may run before you
I may be yours
I may be my own
I do my best not to collide you someday
You do your best not to collide with me someday
I do my best not to wish to collide someday
I did my best to convince myself there was no someday

I may be facing you
I may not be facing you
You don’t have to see my big heart
But it screams out loud
But it screams out proud
And I know that you know

But is it atmosphere
I’m losing atmosphere
I am not atmosphere
Want some atmosphere
What you see is what I am

I like it here in my little corner
I like being degraded
I never liked being degraded

October 7th, 2015

This was written on a whim seven months ago, for no apparent reason. It’s pretty bad, for no apparent reason. Today, I feel like finally posting it, for no apparent reason. Punctuation other than question and exclamation marks is missing for no apparent reason.


Elisabeth’s bust in the park
I don’t want to be here.
The night falls way too early
I don’t want to be here.
The pool filter will suck me in
I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want to be here
I see nothing different
From every day, every moment
I don’t want to be here

Nothing you give me will cure me.
Nothing you are will move me.
Nothing you are matters to me.

I keep on coming back
And it feels like torture
I keep on coming back
And I gain nothing from it
I keep on coming back
And memories are bleak
I keep on coming back
Knowing this is not it.

I get out to greet the sunrise
And all I see is yards and fields
I am empty.
Is this how it’s supposed to be?
Did I grow up?
Did I dream it all?
Is it just me?

The dangers of settling for the second best, in whatever aspect of life. All here. Whatever deserved this much scolding is phonetically similar to the word “jail”. And probably good enough for somebody else, but not me.

Taller Than My Tree

Something in your eyes,
Something in my shame.
Something in the way
You never said my name.

Do you think I would be
Taller than my tree?
Do you think this is
All there is to me?

I know my shadow.
I am my shadow.
I am a shadow.
I am a tree.
I know what my tag says.
I want to hear it from you.
I am a tree.
I am a shadow.
I am my shadow.
I know my shadow.

Do you think I would fly
High across the sky?
Do you think this is
What I’m here for?

Something in the way
You never said my name.
Something in your eyes,
Something in my shame.

– December 14th, 2015 and April 15th, 2016

An aborted attempt to explain the difference between me and a bunch of others (OK, armies of others) and how I grew up to be like this and so on. Could be much better.

My tree is about four to five storeys tall. As in, very tall.

The Neversleeps

The one in black
(In the crowd of white)
Turns the heads
Though they don’t want to.
The one in black
(Is, in my mind, right)
Turns the heads
Thought they don’t want to.

Great love above great sadness.
Great love!

Great love does not see madness.
Great, love!

Up here, in my corner,
Down there, in her corner,
I can be as black as I want
And feel like I’m a hundred years old,
Which is too much,
Which is not enough!

She can tell you
I love the tide.
She can tell you
That I attack it,
With foolish pride,
And she never shuts up,
And she never-ever sleeps!

All around, in your corner,
I am screaming fluorescent hues
And feel like I’m ten years old,
Which is too far out,
Which is not true!

I can tell her
That you are my guide,
I can tell her
That, over the time,
I too broke the stride,
Yet I never shut up,
Yet I never-ever sleep!

…you think I never sleep?

– April 28th and 30th, 2016

April was a blow to my creativity. That’s what happens when you’re surrounded by businesspeople who don’t understand what kind of motivation you need in order to thrive – an advance and enough time to spend on things that are not their needs. Sadly, I have to go through this in order to eventually be able to write the third part of this book and, perhaps, direct some visuals to go with it. Sadly, I have to go through this to end what is the longest yearning of my life.

And what is a better way to deal with it than another cross-over with the second longest wait of my life, the one I see no ending to?