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.

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