The Next Call

Next time when you pick up that phone

And go on to put words to a conversation that never ever sounded like one

You will end up being the same girl from last night

And the night before, and one before that, or probably

You don’t even remember how was it the last time

When was it the last time,

That you let your words speak the tale you have gone through

A voice that could quite convincingly reason the reasons of your bad phases

But you won’t run that risk

Next time when you pick up that phone

And choke your windpipes with a fear stronger than who you are,

And what you want,

You’ll always wet your pillow with silent sobs of disgust

Like a faraway dissolving sun, you’ll sink yourself into the sea of distractions

The things that maybe, make you smile a little,

A song you relate to, perhaps.

But the song’s going to end, and your moods don’t run on loop

You’ll touch your reflection on the mirror and run down your fingers to the surface

And just keep staring at that reflection

Thinking about how well would it fare

If I start talking about myself in the conversation that is between us

You’ll sit in that balcony, rubbing your thighs

And probably look at the night sky, contemplating your stars

Is this my happiness?

Next time you pick up that phone

And you restrict yourself to consequential giggles and comforting flattery

You won’t be comforted ever

By the voice that comes from the other end of that call

Your laughs won’t sound like yours anymore; neither would they surface out of you

They’ll be forcefully pulled out

By your sheer belief in keeping this relationship alive

By pandering to what he believes is needed to be talked about

You’ll see your tongue swelling, your knees weakening

You would hold it back just for one last time

But you don’t want it to last

So can you?

So when you pick up that phone, the next time

And put words to a conversation

Girl you’ll make it happen

You’ll let the rivers flow from within your heart, piercing through your head

You’ll stand up from that bed and start walking

You’ll go from being a microphone to using one for yourself

So what if it nooses up against your neck or arrests your chest

Your bra does that to you everyday

Just put protest to your rebel

And feel the sinister pleasure of unloading your mess on the one who caused it

Because, if this is not the space where you’ll speak up about the desires

That excites you to levels beyond righteous speech

You might never be able to speak up for yourself ever again

You might not be able to recognize yourself

Or touch yourself, with pride,

Ever again

So next time when you pick up that phone

And put words to that conversation

Show him,

How a real woman talks like.

 

Art – Olga Gouskova (Russia)

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