Jelena Petrović

I find myself to be a place.


A place ‘where the actual and the imaginary meet’. A place where I go to listen to metal music, the only one that helps me find peace. Where I go to read books and breathe (both of which I do painfully slowly). Where I go to ‘sit down and bleed out’ on the paper and maybe get a chance to write something down.


I am made of fire and water. Also, my birthday is in December.



(Fucked up beyond all recognition)

Despite everything,

I know I’m just cannon fodder for you.

Despite everything,

I know the only place I belong is by your side.

Despite everything,

I am mute when you start making promises.

I am blind when you fail to keep them.

I am deaf when you lie.

Despite everything,

Your body is my base camp.

Your hands are my hideaway.

Your mind is my ammo dump.

Your goodbye is a gun to my head.

For all that, I’m alone again.

Despite everything, I’m still thinking of you.

This website is optimized for viewing in Google Chrome.

Follow The Balkan Writers Project on:
  • Facebook Basic Square