Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I draw circles on my arms when I am bored I lay on the grass and I smile to the Lord Who may exist only in my head A flimsy deception hung by a thread I've been in a plane and looked to the sky Searching for angels that might pass me by But all I saw were clouds, empty and thick It seems for my whole life I've been tricked If God exists and is on the lookout for me Where was He when I was on a killing spree? Was He eating biscuits and drinking tea? When I cried and I lied, where was He? All I want is for Him to send me a sign A supernatural presence from the divine I want this mint tea to turn into red wine I want all the stars to shine and align All I want, dear Lord, is just one sign Philosophy class taught me there is no God The teachings and prayers are nothing but fraud A delusion that only the peasants applaud As any person could see that the bible is flawed Yet I want to believe that He really is here That my life has

I fell in love, as one falls into a cauldron of brisket and bones. Fighting the fall left me impaired with three stitches on each breast. Only the psychopaths in dystopian fine art seem to understand me, as Real people are as fake as Gucci glass cases in Chinatown, Given that they are undeniably in denial and deny denying. It's that sort of thinking that puts doctors in chicken coops, you know. Veering away from this deceptive normality is the best I can do, Even though real people feast on the vulnerability of my complexities. Yes, the list can stretch long enough for St. Nicholas to read Of all the complexities of this tragically abnormal soul of mine, Unless I fall in love with another maniac in that boiling cauldron, of course.

I recently stumbled upon an advertisement featuring a young woman with her eyes covered by a Kraft Dinner box. She is licking her lips, and the caption reads "a guilty pleasure." Beside this slogan is a box of macaroni and cheese. For some reason this advertisement shocked and offended me. It took me a while to decipher the root of my angst. I finally got it: it gets me mad that the term "guilty pleasure" even exists, because you should never feel guilty for being happy (unless you get happy from twisted and possibly illegal things, in which case you should seek help). My only conclusion from this strange commercial is that we live in a society in which it is deemed normal, and even necessary, to feel guilty for doing anything that is remotely pleasurable. This is most obvious in food and diet advertising. Their message is that you should eat lots of cheap junk food, feel guilty and remorseful for doing so, and then sweat out your tears at an expensive gym, t

I don't know about many things. I don't know what I want my future to look like. I don't even know what shoes I want to wear tomorrow. Then there are things that nobody can ever know. Like how the sun looks like up close. Or how it feels like to sit in a corner of the Milky Way. I will probably never know how it's like to be a billionaire or a celebrity. I don't know when I'll die and I don't know if I'll go to heaven or hell. I'm not even sure if either exist. I don't know if I'm a good person. I don't know who I will see in the mirror tomorrow. I don't know if I will live to see another winter day. Will I be able to tell my grandchildren the tale? I don't know what the ocean's abyss looks like. I will never know how it's like to step foot on another planet. There is just so much that I don't know, and it taunts me. All I know is that I've already felt the sun up close because I've felt its warmth in your

I once met an old man walking his goat He had white fingers and a ripped up old coat He bared his black teeth as he passed me by He said, "we're lonely people, you and I Cause we have friends who are never there And distant cousins who show us no care We feed our sick hearts with whiskey and dance Knowing one day we will be devoured by ants We're lonely people, me and you We hide all the troubles that we've been through So we climb back into our sad empty shells Betting on poker and deep wishing wells Lonely, lonesome, aloof and astray We count down the minutes day by day" A world to explore, and he's there with his goat Looking pathetic in his tattered grey coat His goat is his friend and his friend is his life His life is his misery and misery is his wife Loneliness spreads like black fleas It travels around like a gruesome disease I caught the malady from that dirty old man I should've ignored him, I should'