Mala Kuća Puna Reči

Marko iz Srbije. poezija. patetika. and the sorts.

[markooooooooooooooooooooooo]

i just wanted to share somewhere that isnt instagram

[maria-ib97]

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i can cup the universe.

my hands are holding oceans of water.

my eyes have the sunshine embroidered in them.

my skin draws maps of cities yet to be seen.

the mountains are born on my ears,

and my nose smelled all the flowers in the world.

but your hands clawed into mine and that’s when;

all i could do,

and all i could ever dream of,

vanished into tranquility.

so the only instinct left

was to burrow myself

into your own cupped universe.

[nar-r]

I finally hit my "is this even worth my energy" era.

[markooooooooooooooooooooooo]

took me YEARS to get here

[bees-with-swords]

"Do you ever dream of land?" The whale asks the tuna.

"No." Says the tuna, "Do you?"

"I have never seen it." Says the whale, "but deep in my body, I remember it."

"Why do you care," says the tuna, "if you will never see it."

"There are bones in my body built to walk through the forests and the mountains." Says the whale.

"They will disappear." Says the tuna, "one day, your body will forget the forests and the mountains."

"Maybe I don't want to forget," Says the whale, "The forests were once my home."

"I have seen the forests." Whispers the salmon, almost to itself.

"Tell me what you have seen," says the whale.

"The forests spawned me." Says the salmon. "They sent me to the ocean to grow. When I am fat with the bounty of the ocean, I will bring it home."

"Why would the forests seek the bounty of the oceans?" Asks the whale. "They have bounty of their own."

"You forget," says the salmon, "That the oceans were once their home."

[hearnoweevil]

Last year I finally had an excuse to illustrate this simple little Tumblr story I've had bookmarked forever for class.

I hope you like it :]

[simply-beautiful]

[markooooooooooooooooooooooo]

on earth we’re briefly gorgeous

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to offer safety, when you haven’t had any opportunity at crying in a man’s safe embrace, is a Sisyphean undertaking.

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vetar tiho duva na proplancima Cera

Nemoj me gledati u leđa,

hoću da trčiš.

Kreni, molim te, Marko.

Kreni da trčiš.

Trči brzo,

brže,

najbrže ikada.

Trči ka proplancima i niz brdske livade.

Trči nizbrdo, ka jezeru.

Zaleti se toliko brzo,

i veruj,

da nećeš se saplesti.

Neće ti se ovde sirak i blato za noge hvatati.

I znaj, ti nisi više sa ovog sveta.

Ti živiš u mojoj glavi,

tu kod potiljka.

Često te pomilujem.

Zato trči brže nego što vetar duva,

grabi se za tračke sunca,

za majicu,

za obraze,

za dah.

I nizbrdo kada stigneš.

Tu na dnu, baš kod ribnjaka.

Ti skoči. Jako i daleko.

Kao skakavac.

I veruj,

poletećeš

i letićeš.

Jer živiš u svetu gde vetar nosi tešku decu.

Leti kuda hoćeš.

Svrati do kuće.

Tu je tata i voli te,

i mama je tu i

ona te isto voli.

I nijedna kuća nije prazna,

nigde nije hladno

nigde nije mrak,

i svi te čekaju sa osmesima na licu.

Sa rukama otvorenim za zagrljaj.

Trči,

ne traći vreme sa mnom,

Traži sebi lepa mesta da se igraš,

mekanijeg hleba.

Dosta si živeo u krutom svetu.

Ovaj moj je samo okrutan,

ni šarenila više nema.

Trči Marko, zaleti se.

Ne gledaj mi u leđa.

Leti,

daleko.

U lepše domove,

ka Ceru,

livadama

i proleću.

-Marko Jakovljević

[markooooooooooooooooooooooo]

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pod crvenim svetlima

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i took these photos last year in my hometown in Mačva, Serbia, during a prelude to a storm.

I named the collection “Circe’s arrival on Aeaea”

[nmolesofadrenaline]

[poisionivvyy]

Charcuterie Board

i slit myself into slices soft, symmetrical— the perfect arrangement of girlhood and grief laid bare on porcelain. here, a sliver of silence I swallowed when he said "she's just easier to love." here, the salted muscle of a laugh i practiced to sound less loud, less desperate. i am grapes and gloss and the kind of hunger men call pretty. i curl like prosciutto— delicate, dying, deliberate. do you see how pink I’ve made my pain for you?

i am the brined olive you toss aside— a bouquet of bruises, draped in the gloss of smiles too fragile to hold their shape.

and even now— as she carves herself into your plate— i am still rearranging what’s left of me to be enough for someone who never even knew he was hungry.