Bright peachy walls that 

guarded my youthful birdiness once –

I still remember reasons 

why green was my favourite colour,

and how I played keys

while looking at instructions,

and how I disliked the melted river

of milk chocolate on my tongue…

as if trying to rebel

against the recipe 

of how to be a child.

Leather-bound coins 

and little front pockets

were my weekly reminders 

that I’m still breathing.

Together with stains 

on my maroon clothes 

that I carefully inspected

with my fingers.

I never managed to wash 





I drifted 

between poverty of feelings 

and the need to find compassion.

I gullibly trusted my intuition 

that sometimes 

just failed me –

like an exam I didn’t care to study for.

Always drifting,

always trying to find 

that perfect spot in life,

and make it my best friend.

That only one.

There were bars on my window

when I tried to breathe in 

the winter air,

and I still remember the smell

of the morning snow, 

mixed with metal,


watching others 

enjoying the freedom of coldness. 

So I created mine indoors. 

Freezing my heart with indifference 

and preserving the purity 

of the iron untouchability. 

Alone was my middle name,

a symphony written for one. 

Nobody liked me,

yet everybody loved me. 

They still do. 

It’s time for that girl to come back.

– Chatty Owl –


No, this is not for you.
It’s not for him either.
This one is for
Getting words out from me is
I part
my lips,
but I don’t part with my secrets freely.
An open conversation with me
is like slitting fish –
difficult to grasp,
difficult to maintain,
you still can’t resist to get your hands
on the sight of a bleeding sun,
I count all those moments
that made me think
of you.
Little acts of kindness
were like magnetic light –
yet it resembled that sensation you get
when you stumble in the dark,
trying to find a familiar object.
An enigmatic quest
of lost surroundings.
This moment right now.
I want you to ask me,
if this is for you.
I want to stare at you in reply
and mutedly nod.
And I want the movement of my head
to be the answer that I’m lying.

– Chatty Owl –


I’ve cut the moon open,
so I could see you,
enveloped in a white cloth of light
from a leaking sky.
A premonition of you as the black horse
was right in front of my eyes –
an alluring distraction,
that turned out to be as annoying
as an itchy paper cut.

The feeling
of a fog-wet grass around my ankles
reminds me
of your shy attempts to hug me,
wishing it will spark the fire between us,
I remember feeling lukewarm already.
Just from the thought of it…

you make one step back,
then forward –
a zigzag of intercrossing intercourse,
that always tasted better in reverse.
Resentfully unsure,
you blend into a thick fog,
giving me that content sense of relief.

Don’t waste your imagination on me,
my tolerance is never coming back.

– Chatty Owl –


Echoes of soft ripples in the night,
like waves that lick against
the shores
of my mind and body,
lighting my eyes
(the way only you can),
and guiding you to me
in an ocean of smiles
and uncontrollable kisses –
you don’t have to say a word,
your mouth writes vast seas upon my lips,
and my tongue replies in swirls
and eddies of wet touches.

Your everything
is an instant reflection of my desires –
your fingerprints on my spine
leave salt-stained proof
of my happiness.
I insist on keeping you close to my breath,
because I can’t get enough
of the sin you leave inside me,

Beads of sweat,
like little crystal balls,
soak up our memories of this night,
recording the passion,
to tell it in the future, so
we would never forget
where I belong –
drifting endlessly
in your arms…

– Chatty Owl –


I wanted to be cured of madness that lived inside me. The delicious illness that made me jump in my sleep, thinking you are next to me, holding my dainty neck captive, so I could only breathe when you let me. I wanted to hide your clothes and throw away keys from all those doors that I’ve locked, because I was too proud to ask, if you were to come back here again. Spinning rooms and out-of-breath love
confessions were moments I remember most.

I miss those side effects of you.

– Chatty Owl –


“You want to save me?” I ask,
as I’m suffocating
in the complexity of this sadness.

There is nothing to recover any more,
my dear.
I’ve infiltrated my simple body
with an intricate mind,
and the result was
an endless sandstorm –
dry and gritty ashes
of what’s left of us.
It hugged me
with its coarse hands
and left my skin grazed, raw and exposed.

“Can you describe love?” you ask,
but I’m having trouble answering you.

I stare in the opposite direction,
words whirling inside me
like a devilish blizzard,
as I attempt to find
the most appropriate definition
known to me.

“It’s a sexual penetration of emotions”,
I finally decide,
closing my beautiful mouth shut for good.

– Chatty Owl –


It’s not a secret,

I have a thousand flaws.

I line them up upside my head

and observe their stubbornness to never leave me.


(You did though)


Fresh cut grass – one of my favourite smells,

yet it’s funny

that I like something that’s just been cut.




(I should do the same to all my imperfections)


Everything happens for a reason, they say.

How do they know?


– Chatty Owl –