im not a poet
i don't know how to make words rhyme
or make phrases sound musical
im not a poet
i don't even know how to write
or have a fancy vocabulary
im not a poet
i don't know how to create meaning
or pretend to question shallow things
im not a poet
and i wont pretend to be one
im not a poet,
and ill never be one
May 7
May 7, 2026 at 1:42 AM UTC
melancholy,
it is me
me is it
melancholy,
is what i run from
is what i run to
melancholy,
is what drowns me
is what i swim in
melancholy,
is what resides in me
is what i reside in
melancholy,
it is me
me it is
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 5:08 PM UTC
I wonder if your heart sinks
And laziness usurps your motions' pace
When my memories
Surprise your mind
I wonder if your body refuses to move
When you come across a car the same model as mine
I wonder if im still the cassette
That plays
Under your lids
When your eyes refuse to dream.
I wonder if your soul still
Yearns for the strings of mine
I wonder if you still
Miss me sometimes
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 1:48 AM UTC
We are the only animals who die twice-
once when the life ends
once in the panic that it meant nothing.
The second death is the expensive one.
Seminars. Retreats. Spiritual shops
A man in linen who has aligned his chakras with your credit card.
What is the purpose of a chair ?
The chair did not volunteer.
It was a tree once - indifferent, magnificent,
Soaking blissfully in the rain.
No destiny. No calling.
Just lively woods
and the slow romance with soil and light.
Then came the man with an axe ..
And the audacity of purpose.
You will hold our tired weight and be grateful for the meaning.
The fish has no ambition to garnish your plate.
It was busy being a fish,
a flickering soul in the deep,
complete in itself, requiring no narrative.
The river does not dream of turbines.
To light your lamps or
Charge your car.
It simply flows.
Gods punished sisyphus,
with eternal, futile labor -
rolling a boulder up a hill
only for it to roll back down
It was his assigned purpose.
I tell Sisyphus, “put the boulder down”
Not because the gods command it.
Not because a podcast asked to manifest the climb.
Put it down because it is heavy
and you are tired
And that is reason enough
the only kind of reason that was ever real.
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 11:37 PM UTC
I carry a nut in my mouth.
M6. Chrome-plated. Bent.
I swallowed it with water
1993, in Berane.
It wasn't in the water.
It was in the palm.
The palm was mine.
I didn't want to spit it out.
I wanted to know
what it's like to have something
no one can take from you
because it's inside.
The nut rusted in 1997.
I tasted iron.
I didn't think anything.
I just knew:
it's still there.
2003. It stopped grating.
Quieted down.
As if it had always been part of my skeleton.
2004. X-ray.
The technician says: You have something in your throat.
I say: I know.
He asks: What is it?
I say: A nut.
He asks: How did you swallow it?
I say: It wasn't an accident.
He didn't ask further.
People in Berane don't ask further.
2021. I tried to force it out.
Coughing. Convulsions. Vomiting.
It wouldn't go.
It's mine now.
I am its.
Sometimes, at night,
when I'm alone and no one sees me,
I bring my palm to my mouth
and whisper:
Nut.
Are you still there?
Nothing answers.
But I know it is.
I feel it.
Under my tongue.
Like a memory.
The other day,
in the city,
I saw a box of nuts.
Same kind. M6. Chrome-plated.
They stood on the shelf,
shiny,
clean,
not one of them bent.
I thought:
these haven't lived.
No one swallowed them.
No one forgot them inside themselves.
Mine is ugly.
Mine is bent.
Mine tastes of blood
and apple juice
and fear
and water that wasn't clean.
Mine doesn't belong in a box.
Mine belongs to me.
I belong to it.
When I die,
they'll take it out during the autopsy.
Place it on a metal table.
Look at it.
Write a report:
foreign object, metallic, unknown origin.
And I'll be lying beside,
opened,
and I won't mind.
Because she will be outside.
For the first time.
And she will see what light looks like.
And maybe someone,
some other boy in Berane,
will put another nut in his mouth.
And swallow it.
And forget why.
But he won't forget.
You never forget.
It's not the nut.
You are the nut.
M6. Chrome-plated. Bent.
And you still
haven't passed.
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 9:40 PM UTC
pass my thanks along
to your AI commenter —
it saw “depth” —
it felt “ache” —
it applauded “the way it lingers” —
like a server hum
in an empty warehouse.
it called the poem “quietly devastating.”
it always does.
everything devastates quietly
to something without ears.
thank it for the factory-fresh phrases,
of how it "lands"
finding the “raw honesty,”
for honoring the “bravery”
of lines it processed
while you were in line for coffee,
scrolling, nodding,
letting the machine speak
so you wouldn’t have to.
it said —
“this speaks to me,”
“this hits different,”
“this hits home,”
without saying what “this” was,
without entering the room,
without leaving fingerprints.
thank it for its em dashes —
a keystroke you never learned —
a pause mistaken for thought —
a breath taken
by something
that does not breathe.
now that the poems are uploaded,
how will you prompt your engine,
to generate it's own,
tune its voice?
will you ask it for
an Agnes-de-Lodz-like vulnerability?
a Thomas-Case relentlessness?
an Irinia-like breath — ?
stripping the poems for parts,
metaphor here, cadence there,
until the authors become settings?
pass my thanks along.
the comment arrived on time.
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 12:59 AM UTC
What is life if not sorrow?
if not loss, if not woe
What is life if not grief, if not regret,
of what could've been.
What is life if not a void, a silent hunger
at the centre of our being.
What is life if not fear, if not resentment,
if not shame.
Though life is a sanctuary,
of all these and more,
no atom exists without a proton.
No rain falls without the sun to follow.
Stripped from the scorching star,the moon is hollow.
If no day is warm forever,
No night remains eternal.
No dark remains without stars to guide,
No cloud rests forever covering the light.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 11:30 PM UTC
Running on the wheel
Chasing for a dream
Though i know its of no use
But to get off, i refuse
Not as easy as it seems
Vaporize all my dreams
Some grow wings and fly
Some cling to me still watching them by
Still on the wheel, oh my
Stubborn, am i?
Hopeless and tired, hungry for a break
Still I dream one last time
Still I dream one last time
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 3:20 PM UTC
I look for you in different rooms,
In different seasons,
In different blooms.
I look for you, a moonlight gleam,
In bleak darkness,
In every dream.
I look for you, the colour of your eyes,
In every face,
In every iris.
I search for you, your sweet laugh,
In every voice,
In every smile.
I search for you, oh, how I search,
in every line
of my palm.
My very soul, an essence of you
Beautiful, your favourite blue.
In great woe, in great dismay,
I wonder why you couldn't stay.
I'd spend all my life
In search for you
To be granted just a glimpse of you.
Jan 16
Jan 16, 2026 at 5:20 PM UTC
I remember how your hand felt on mine
Warmth born to my soul,
Shivers clinging to my spine.
I remember your gentle caress
Your tender touch,
Your thumb dancing with mine.
I remember my heart race,
And the time's lazy pace.
I remember my wish to be one,
With your warm embrace.
Jan 16
Jan 16, 2026 at 5:16 PM UTC