2 poems from Bojana Stojcic

Until I Come Up With the Right Words That Will Have All The Necessary Things They Require, but Nothing Extra

I’ll keep trying to find the ones to describe
what’s with the silence, and I’m sure there’s

a perfectly simple explanation why I lost them
so I reckon I’ll sit down, write an essay on

steps to finding your voice again
something easy to follow, however deep and

evocative, which will, in a way that is clear
and not difficult to understand, of course,

demonstrate that the key is to
not be afraid, grasp that handle and pull it

kind of shit, though there’s no use being
all ears when you don’t know a language,
 
is there, meaning I’ll probably resort to
a dictionary for everything that sounds

important, serious too, then forget what I’ve
read, just let my blood drip onto crumpled paper

unrestrained like waves that

beat
beat 
beat

the shore

or ask you—

doesn’t it scare you
when you use plain words like that


Out on the road is like on paper

Every time I think of leaving
I think of Jack pushing that old car
and all those
rivers, peaks and shores he never found
(like all the ones he ever did)

we’re born under the same stars
wash in the same puddles
die in the same dugouts

we find what works best for us by accident



BIO: Bojana Stojcic loves authentic voices, unfettered by norms and academic expectations. When writing herself, she enjoys experimenting with structure and style, which makes the road bumpier, though the journey more exciting and rewarding. You can read her in Eunoia Review, The Opiate, Burning House Press, Spelk and elsewhere.