Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

Looking in from the outside, they're smoking and drinking wine On the patio, and they look so conspicuously happy, that I know They are not happy at all. The man has a cigar protruding from his lips And the lady is wearing a tattered red gown and a frown on her cheek. She buries her crow's feet under a nest of expensive makeup and gloss. And they ask each other, how has your day been? And they each respond, Good, while twirling their empty forks in the air, searching for ghost spaghetti. Oh, why hasn't the food arrived yet? I'm feeling rather sweaty from work. It's been years since the children moved out, so an empty house bears no Promise of passion; and the lady wakes up to the same man every day, And she no longer feels a warm prickle in the corner of her stomach. The blissful lurch of excitement, that feeling you used to get when You were a child and you saw your mother picking you up at the end Of the week from summer camp, and you memo

Soon, we'll be old and sour and grey, Looking back at today, thinking those were the days, Where dawns and dusks spilled into each other like syrup. At sunrise we slept and at sundown we wept, And all in between we filled our days with nonsense. Soon, we'll forage our memories and become so Overwhelmed with nostalgia that we will have to Caress our stomachs and sit in a chair with armrests, And life will play itself out once more, like a movie, In fragments of memories, sensations, delusions, Of days where we felt so ashamed that we crawled Into ourselves and, like pathetic snails, we waited for life to pass us. Of days where we felt so alive that we risked Our pride and respect in exchange for a glass of beer. Of days where we were so miserably defeated That we cried to rock songs and wondered how it would be To see someone else in the mirror for a change. Little fragments, little things, will flash like fireworks. Then every thing, every dew drop on every ro

She’s different ‘cause she talks about politics, She’s not one of those cookie cutter chicks. ‘Cause every word that escapes her lips, Is one-of-a-kind; a witty, rare eclipse. When the sun shines upon her hair, It glows so brightly it seems to flare. Sorry to say, she’s just like everyone… Like every other girl roasting under the sun On that very same beach, cookie cutter girls Who all think they’re unique gifts to the world. All you have to do is mix sugar and dough, Then sprinkle some differences and then you’ll know Being a big girl, an adult, you see, Is not when you realize you’re bound to be free. No, growing up is knowing that you’re like everyone else, ‘Cause everyone struggles, succumbs to impulse, Everyone cares about themselves and nobody else.

Born into a world that is ruled by the few An oligarchy disguised as a democracy (We're accustomed to believing it is not so Because we are cattle, and "the man" Can slice our necks open at any time) I'll never be a man, for it is God's will I'll have the "wo-" stuck in front of it Like an uninvited guest that refuses to leave Even when the dessert dishes are put away I'll forever be destined to be wo-man A syntactical slip, that we are hu-man When we were small we were equal Until that day in the change room In the sixth grade, when Sadie began To make fun of you for having fat legs Then, like a lollipop version of Eve, We looked down at ourselves and realized That we were wo-men and our bodies became Something that needed to be kept secret Chastity belts digging into our bellies The sunburnt truckers with leering stares The frightening reminders: never walk Home alone at night and bring hair spray De