Elephant in the room

18 nov
Rusmira Šišić

I cannot explain
why apologies are lining
themselves up on my fingertips.
Counting one after the other, keeping score
a strange bouquet of simple words
swimming in cerulean selfish sadness
syncopating stitches to my lips.

A taste of sin.

Certainly you remember I need to speak.

I am incomplete without
the words in my mouth.
At least let me know when you need
silence so I don't send paper swans
sailing before you are ready to steer them.

My tongue is heavy
with stories and sorries waiting
to wash up on shore.

I size them up, letter by letter
smoothing stinging nettles with
a slow hand and, severing
My own self-sympathy, I
sit with them in the dark.

And wait.

— Svi stavovi i mišljenja izraženi u tekstu su isključivo autorova i ne odražavaju uredničku politiku platforme Hoću.ba. —

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