scribble scrabble, ti

i never wanted to write our breakup poem.

almost a year ago you met the child within
me on a playground outside my window and
brought words, words i cant dare to speak yet
they stick to my fridge, the same night i kissed
your cheek, inhaled your scent and
forgot to exhale.
six months later i didnt care how this would end
cus right then and there, as you wrapped your
arm around my neck, kissed my back and said
goodnight,
i knew ill love you forever.
it came too soon, last week, i waved you
goodbye when you ripped my heart out with
your last glance, ignoring my tears as i walked
home and swallowing words i shouldve said,
“maybe i need you.”.
words i shouldve written in thousand posts,
formatted and proof-read by the lines of my heart,
meant only for you, but it all ends, it
always ends,
even those love songs i wrote and never showed.
yesterday i carved my feelings for you into
my skin, promising myself theyll never change,
and today,
today im writing this and i never wanted to write
our breakup poem, but here it is.
the end.

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scribble scrabble

obozujem njeni ustnici.

lezi poleg z glavo na mojem ramenu, mogoce celo spi, ne vem. lasje padajo na moj vrat.
zgecka, ampak pase.
gledam neko policijsko serijo in v istem momentu, ko se zacne akcija, zacutim njeni ustnici na moji bradavicki.
nepricakovana akcija, a ne nezazeljena.
topel dah, mokri ustnici, kmalu se zraven prikrade se konica jezika. bradavico objame z ustnicama, se nikoli tako nezno, kot da bi jo spoznavala v prvo. zadrzujem dih, upocasnjujem dihanje, nocem, da prepozna, da me vzburja.
mislim, da ve.
pilot drzim v levi roki, igram se z mislijo, da ugasnem tv in se posvetim samo njej.
in ona se igra z mano.
kot velikokrat poprej in vsakic si recem “to je bilo zadnjic.”.
nikoli ne bom zvedela, kdo je res bil morilec.

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Press and hold to view.

maybe s snapchat novice but a tease
expert she holds my full attention for
three seconds, dominating my imagination
till next snap. time lapse of her after
workout shower i tap the screen and
race the countdown. i screenshot her lips
with my eyes before my screen turns
to white. claims shes shy but videos of
her fingers would dispute, daily supplies
of visual incentive, adding “guess youll
never know” just to spite, a flirt too instant
to leave proof.

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countdown to reality

she smells like cigarettes and mistakes, mine to be exact. her red lips vomit sweet words of abuse, burying the foundation of my desire even deeper. its easy to ignore her while she speaks, my eyes have too many places to rest upon and my imagination takes advantage of given visual material. its not long before i lure her into my bed, lift her black polka dotted skirt and take her to her final destination. she leaves bruises on my body like her own little collection of passport stamps. her post-coitus post-orgasmic sweat runs down her neck as she pulls me closer and whispers in my ear, “mine”. determined yet somewhat defeated she adds “just nod, even if its not true”.

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orgazmov se ne mece stran.

ce bi se mi ljubilo razmisljati, kako deluje nerimani jambski pentameter, bi tole mogoce se imelo nek smisel, a ko zacutim njene zobe na notranji strani stegna in je ta neskoncni stavek kot tista neprekinjena slast, ko sma med premorom porivanja stene hlastali po zraku, in ko “kako si mokra” iz njenih ust zveni skoraj liricno, takrat ji dovolim, da svoj prst porine v moja usta in se igra z jezikom, ker obe veva, da je tole bolj cummings kot shakespeare in najin fuk je se bolj povrsen od moje poezije.

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i fell in love once.

i wonder how many skeletons she has hid in
her closet and does she ever miss them. there
are emotions people have left with her she
doesnt try to shake off, she hoards them
gleefully. we were too impatient to wait, like diluted
coffee in the morning, stressfully unsatisfying and
bodies craving for more with bitter aftertaste. she
searches the trash bins for memories, a vague
glimpse of excitement, a certain harmony between
her fingers. she has convinced herself constant pain
is beauty, blurry eyed remembering how much my
fingerprints stung as i entered her last. i wonder if
she misses me. i guess theres something poetic in
not knowing.

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ne it. ostani med mojima nogama.

ko zasadi svoje zobe v moje bedro, se mi zdi, kot da hoce del mene odnest s sabo. tja nekam dalec. zacutim jo v sebi. globoko. globje kot vceraj. stisnem prevleko blazine in najraje bi preklela vse potne kaplje, ki jih je pustila na meni. dihanje in glasno stokanje prilagodim ritmu skripanja postelje. nikoli ni poskusila z roko utisati moje naslade, kot bi pisala samo najin duet. orgazem kot silovit crescendo v levi slusalki. z zadnjimi atomi energije jo sebicno rotim “ostani v meni,” in upam, da ne prebere med vrsticami.

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poetry

watching her red lips from across the bar, referencing some obscure academic mythology i care nothing about, her fingers hold the bottle like a paper its footnotes. maybe i should stop thinking about her taste on my lips, her flesh beneath my fingertips. maybe i should put time into it, unraveling her as a poem, close reading of her hips and her inner thighs, almost like the endless lines of Howl i keep reciting in my head. i swear Eliot would be proud of me.
new line,
new stanza.
overly facetious. lack of secondary study and my restrain. pushing the structural analysis of her spine to the limit, nearing the absurdity.
my lust for her is like Longenbach
and
his
line
breaks.
allow me to be like Walt, perfectly vulgar.
STRAIGHT TO THE POINT: i admit defeat.
i want to be inside you.

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pet besed samo za njo.

njen jezik na mojem ušesu, topel zrak uide njenim ustnicam, rdeče lase ovijem okoli prstov, glavo potisnem med svoji nogi
poskušam se osredotočit na njene, prste ustnice roke kožo zvok, izdihne glasno zrajca do amena, ko zarine prsta globoko vame, zadržim krik zase soseda spi, miljon misli vse isti imenovalec
ne nehat ne nehat ne nehat ne nehat ne nehat
! ! ! ! !
s konico jezika obrise pot, presteje pike na mojem vratu, nasmeh zamenjam s praznim pogledom, se malo in bo konec

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to bi ona delala.

skrivnosti polne uzitka noci prezivetih
v moji skripajoci postelji, ob glasnih izdihih
pretvarjanje, da bo to med nama izginilo za
zaprtimi vrati, in ko bo zadnja kapljica
potu podpisana z njenim imenom stekla
po mojem hrbtu, jo bom glasno preklela,
ker tega prekletega psihofizicnega
obesanja po meni si res nisem zelela.

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