In the deep blue of the room
in which I find no sleep,
growling of the dogs
slips through the metal construction.
It echoes eerily,
no comfort to the possessing thoughts,
the twisted pictures of my world.
Our distant walls
didn't leave us.
Your past no longer turmoils you,
but I have no peace.
For the longest time,
I was a stranger to your ails,
but the face of the woman
which poisoned our kisses
won't leave me alone
anymore.
I've written this poem five times at least,
not once was I satisfied,
not once was I relieved,
but I'll keep writing.
I have spoken my truth one hundred times,
one thousand times I remained silent,
the thoughts return like apparations
to haunt me, when I should be in bliss.
Tossed and turned for the fifth time
in the bed next to you, in the deep blue,
I was thinking of my painful sentence,
like a trap.
I was thinking of leaving you.
But that would make my heart sink heavier.
I have no way of learning the ways in which
these wounds heal.
The purest of my loves cut the deepest.
I don't think that's a rule,
but it was destined for me.
I can only wait, wounded,
to say it once,
keep it shut, from then on.
Still, I'm vunerable for you,
with no forethought, and I knew
of her presence in you.
If I bleed, it's from the dare
and taking the possibility
to feel something for real.
Your words penetrated
when you said it hit you
to hear her speak
of the things you wished for
for months on end,
so long after it was gone.
Wounded in the deep blue,
in the night of dogs,
I cannot embrace you.
I'm ashamed of my wounds.
I feel small and inadequate even without them.
I'm tired of them, I'm tired of the shame.
I want to be someone else
but in every direction, I walk through pain.
U dubokoj plavoj tami
ugla u kojem ne mogu da zaspim
čuje se lavež pasa
kroz metalnu konstrukciju provučen.
Odzvanja jezivo
i ne umiruje misli što opsedaju,
te izopačene slike mojeg sveta.
Davni zidovi među nama
nisu otišli.
Tebe više ne napada bol tvoje prošlosti
ali meni ne da mira.
Kad si ti patio, dugo mi je bilo
sve svejedno,
no sada me ne ostavlja
lik žene zbog koje nisi mogao da me poljubiš.
Napisala sam ovu pesmu barem pet puta
i nijednom nisam bila zadovoljna,
i nijednom mi nije olakšala,
a nastaviću da je pišem.
Stoput sam ispričala šta mi je na duši
i hiljadu puta prećutala,
misli se vraćaju kao sablasti
da me more, kada treba da mi je najlepše.
Prevrnuta po peti put u krevetu
pored tebe, u dubokoj plavoj tami,
razmišljala sam o toj presudi bola,
kao klopci.
Pomišljala sam da odem.
Ali samo bi još težu ranu srce nosilo.
Nemam način da saznam koje rane kako zaceljuju.
Moja najveća ljubav me najstrašnije boli.
Ne mislim da tako mora,
no, za mene je moralo biti.
Mogu samo ranjena da čekam,
jednom da kažem, i bezbroj da prećutim.
Ipak, tebi sam izložena, otvorena,
bez predumišljaja, a znala sam da u tebi živi.
Ako ranjena sam, to je od tog što sam živela
i mogla da osetim stvarno.
Reči su tvoje ranile
kada si rekao da te je pogodilo
kad je izgovorila ono
što si mesecima čekao da čuješ
tako dugo nakon toga.
Ranjena sam u uglu tamnoplave sobe
u noći kerova,
ne mogu da te zagrlim.
Stidim se svojih rana.
Osećam se malo, i nedostojno, i bez njih.
Umorna sam od njih, i od stida.
želim da budem neko drugi
ali u svakom pravcu hodam kroz bol.