Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

You wolf, you wild man, you thief You chop her up like a slab of beef And you wonder how she'd taste With a side of tomato paste Or drenched in cooking gin The oil slowly dripping down your chin Then you pour some vinaigrette And light your twentieth cigarette You bite her neck with glee The hickeys turn to the Red Sea If she does not pass the test You just simply toss the rest You feed the wolves her remains Disregarding that she feels pain She cries and howls and begs But to you, she's breasts and legs She is a wild hog that must be tamed Tomorrow, will you know her name? And when she's pale, ashamed and ill You tell her that you love her still That way you have her in your claws To scoop her up into your jaw Her heart is dried up like a raisin You love the taste; it's so amazing Men like you should not stray far 'Cause a wolf is what you are

We used to be so close, I'd hold you in my hand And you'd go with me wherever I had planned Whenever I got lost, you put me back on track You were my flashlight when the night was black You played me music on request, too good to be true But I was foolish and took advantage of you You gave me Angry Birds and the play store Yet I scowled and wanted more All those times in class, without you, I would've slept And that 3 hour car ride, without you, I'd have wept At night I'd plug you in, but I was too rough, I know Now your battery is broken and your software is slow I want you back, but my warranty expires in two days I would get you a new battery if only I got a raise I took you for granted, and now I'm all alone I miss you, please revive; I love you, Nexus phone

A shiver goes down my spine when that one boy…the one with the hair in his eyes and a scruff of hair on his chin, walks into the lecture ten minutes after the professor has begun talking, and he stomps like the Green Giant to the front row and while moving to the middle of the aisle his backpack hits my face. No, I can’t stand students like that. Then there are those who treat the lecture hall as their personal restaurant. Once, this girl opened a full can of tuna and pasted it onto a piece of bread, downed it with Starbucks (worst curse upon this world) and proceeded to strawberry yoghurt and crackers and fries. Why? But these are mere observations of mine. Other students count sheep or just listen to the professor and they fall asleep, even if in the second row. There are those who type furiously, as if the course was a pathway to God. They record every detail being said, they probably write down who coughed in class and when and for what reason and questions on t

Trying to pay attention in a class with 1500 other students, And all I see is a sea of Apple logos and consumerism and U of T hoodies, The occasional obnoxious boy with feet perched on the seat ahead of him, A screen with a powerpoint slide that is the size of a house, Constant gossip and people trying to squeeze through ten minutes late and a girl checking her neopets account a nd a boy sleeping right under the professor’s nose, while I’m there writing feverishly, drifting off occasionally and fantasizing about Paninis and coffee served on a plateau of sugar. Walking, walking, constantly from one class to the next, no one seems to be rushing, moving like a slow artery, that of a wrinkled man on his deathbed, blood barely reaching his heart. But I’m always in a rush, because I want to save time in order to do more useless things like sit on a bench beside the food truck that was last inspected in 2005, its windows shabby and its menu much too large to fit the ingredients in tha