Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I do not have the capability to tell you what I am But I sure as hell can recite to you what I am not. I am not A scrap of debris to be stepped on To be wasted To be forgotten. I am not Some sort of playing field. There are no black-and-white checkers lining my stomach, are there? Chess pieces need someplace else to roam. I am not A merciless barbarian who needs no one to hold With teeth the size of elephant tusks gripping my chest… I am not I swear my life on this one- Every inch of my being is content with this, when I say- I am not Just Another Girl. And if you think so, Whatever.

The path from the heart to the lips Is filled with potholes and easy slips It’s the core of confusion; lover of lust The faucet from which regret steadily drips

Tulips hang their heads at night Sometimes I wonder why Roses close their arms in fright While the dampened soil turns dry Sometimes I wonder why The owls scavenge with the moon While the dampened soil turns dry Leaving white mice to their doom The owls scavenge with the moon Needlessly boasting as they go Leaving white mice to their doom Maple trees swaying to and fro Needlessly boasting as they go Hunters stomping through the wood Maple trees swaying to and fro Shooting as carelessly as they could Hunters stomping through the wood Maple trees swaying to and fro Shooting as carelessly as they could Needlessly boasting as they go