Honeymooners Anonymous

Here at honeymooners anonymous, we welcome people coming from every stage of lustful self-destruction.

We particularly aim to help those who are addicted to the honeymoon phase.

Yes, addicted. And pills can't fix it.

Because when you first meet a person and their lips taste like honey, you assume that they must always taste like honey, that you and them will be in a stasis, a trance, a tasty eclair filled with a never-ending flow of creamy love.

But one day your beau eats onions. No longer tasting like sweet sugar, you stop, re-evaluate. Why settle for onion breath when there are honeys buzzing all around you?

The full moon comes ever so soon, and before you know it your love is gone too.

Every full moon you transform, like a werewolf, from a man to a rabid creature.

On the hunt, on the prowl, so here you are. Seeking perfection.

An immaculate pair of hands to hold, fingernails trimmed long but not too long, French manicure and Italian perfume. Perfection.

Milky white skin, free of sin, eyes that glow in the dark and a jellybean nose.

Cute laugh, mild manners, independent, grim at times, happy at others, a perfect lover.

Will kneel at your feet, raw and sweet, and complicated with many little bittersweet parts like a pomegranate.

Oh where is this perfection you crave?

Here at honeymooners anonymous, we have only one piece of advice:

Eat an onion and see, that you're not perfect too.

Comments

Miles Away

I refuse to sell my heart, not for twenty-five cents The auction is closed, ladies and gents I’ve already sold my eyes, when they caught sight of the streets So now everyone can see the beauty of my Italian retreat I sold my tongue for gelato, feeling so young Letting the wild berries dance around on my tongue I sold my feet when I traveled to see our Holy Mother in gold Like a saint on a mission, I’ll walk until I get old I sold my ears when I heard beautiful Aida open her lips Echoing through the theatre in which the ancients used to sit But I won’t sell my heart, it is still free For my heart belongs to God and not really to me My heart aches for home, too many miles away Yet for now I am here and I will live for today Yes, I sold my eyes to Italy; it’s all I can see How I wish you were here seeing these treasures with me I’ll try to buy back my sight, taste, and ears too So that I’ll be able to share these memories with you

We Pretend

We pretend that we'll live forever That tomorrow will bring something better We pretend we're not made of stars As we roam the streets and bars We pretend we'll never die That our kids won't ever cry Over the loss that is our end Every student, teacher, friend Everyone we've ever known Has a constellation they call home When the moon comes out at night I look to them to see the light To all those who did pretend That their story would never end But on some nights, breezy and clear I see the stars and they feel near I can grasp one and hold it in my hand As it takes me to another land We pretend this earth is all there is to see Yet the stars and crickets have spoken to me We pretend we'll never die Because we truly won't To someone's eye

Not Your Typical New Year's Resolutions

2016 is a big year for me and for most friends my age. 2016 means I'll transform from "Olga Taratuta, High School Graduate" to "Olga Taratuta, B.A." 2016 holds my future in its sweaty palms. The words "job," "money," "graduate school," and "scholarships" seem to have dominated my pool of vocabulary. 2016 is where I become a real adult, not the OSAP mooching fraud that I am now. But adulthood is a scam. It is a fable told by society to keep the economy in check. Adults are seduced by money. We become promiscuous, lurking the streets to make a buck. My original goals for 2016 were to: A) Get into graduate school B) Get a job C) Get an apartment D) Save, save, save! Then I realized that all those goals are money-driven to some degree. They are but cookie cutter resolutions, such as "exercise more" or "lose 5 pounds." I will not make money by aiming to make money. I have realized this ...

Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

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