Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

The tinsel on the tree Chocolate in the bowl Santa on the mantle Streets engulfed in snow This Christmas is a special One; I look back on a year Filled with bliss and chaos And pockets of despair I wrap my woe in tinsel Eat candy to sweeten My heart; look at the Snow out the window To drown in bitter cold I always thought I was Made of ice, and that Doom was at my door For who could love a frigid woman, who could Melt a polar soul? This Christmas is a special One; this Christmas I'm not cold This year I'm fuelled by Sparks flaming in my Chest; I'm heated by My will to move on To embrace the year ahead

In the end, it's all the same Every French kiss in the rain Every hand you'll ever hold Even when your heart is cold Every inch of skin you've felt Every sweet cologne you've smelt Every look's that made you melt Is made on a conveyor belt It's part of the same sorrow plan It's how God has punished man To make love like ecstasy To make you dismiss reality And to fall into a helpless trance Of laughter, chocolate, and romance You play with fire and you dance You know the odds, but take a chance In the end, it's all the same All the bliss and all the pain All the kisses taste so sweet We search until we feel complete Image source: https://falacarte.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/kiss-under-spring-rain.jpg

Sometimes life really throws you in the deep end. No floaties, no swimming instructor by your side. No wading in the shallow end before moving on to the diving board. Sometimes life just pushes you in head first and you're 18 feet deep before you can even open your eyes. Perhaps this is when we learn the most- when everything hits us all at once. A beautiful catastrophe, a cavalcade of explosions, tears, laughter, happiness, loneliness; all of the contradictions and antonyms converging. Just a few months ago I felt like I became an adult, and now I am alone. So alone. There's help from friends, colleagues, and family, of course, but now I feel as most of us do. Like on an endless pursuit for money and happiness, not really knowing where to find either, and never feeling like we have enough. Adulthood is loneliness. As the strike nears a fifth cold and bitter week, and as I hopelessly scramble to find an apartment to move into before the Christmas season, it is only my inner a

Life Goes on and on and on Even when the magic's gone With the redness of the dawn Life tells us to just get on Even when the sun has set Even when your cheeks are wet Dream of the loved ones you forget Until you wake up in a sweat Even then, when all is grey When God has ditched you for the day When autumn comes and leaves decay When you feel hopeless and you pray To a sad statue made of clay Even when you fly away Life gives you yet another day Life gives you more than you can bear More thorns and weights for you to wear You go on to the next affair To the women with golden hair That leave you hollow in despair But life goes on and gives no care Life goes on and on and on One day, my duck, you'll be a swan One day you will sleep half past dawn We all will wonder where you've gone But life will still go on and on Image source: https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Color-of-dawn-oil-painting-by-Dmitry-Sp

Sometimes I forget where I am, where we are Like Alice, in my body, I feel much too bizarre I swear and I argue and I use love as a crutch I'm shallow and hollow and I drink way too much Scrape the surface of the thin icy shell Teeth chatter a little as your hands start to swell Maybe you'll see me, just maybe you might Catch a mere glimpse of me in the sunlight You might warm me up, you might melt me down But I'm much too terrified to witness you drown So I clog up my arteries with all the pain And I pretend that I'm foolish and vain It's so much easier to pretend to be free Much better to be... a girl who's not me I take three steps forward, and then four steps back Moving so slowly through the tunnels so black Moving like molasses through a world so obscure Hating myself and then finding a cure Loving myself and then biting my tail It goes in circles to no avail Sometimes I forget where I am, where we are All I know is

Like an alchemist, She had the power To change things From mundane to Beautiful; from a Serpent into a Dove; from a daisy Into a bouquet From a stone brick Into a diamond She had the power Of witchcraft and She loved the way She could use men As puppets and Women as bait Worms on a hook Pierced through the Heart. Little did she Know that a worm Has eight hearts And the men had None She loved love But was never  In love; except  with  Herself; she ate Hearts for breakfast; Legs for dessert; Like an alchemist, She changed things From ordinary To the otherworldly; Spending days And nights in the  Cold cellar where she  Worked; turning shame Into gold medallions; Morphing pain into Sterling; changing Lust into love, Selling it in batches To the men  And the women So desperate for Someone to  Hold Image source: https://astrologyandar

I've never been afraid of fear This is why I am still here I love the deep sky way too much And the feeling of your touch So much to see, so much to do Before this mad, short life is through I've never been afraid of tears This is why I am still here My heart's been beat and chopped in two Sometimes I had misplaced the glue I have, however, beat the odds I've accepted that I'm flawed Even though my goal's not clear And the world's a ticking bomb sphere I just know the end's not near I'm still breathing, I'm still here

What is a father? Who is our father? Our Father, capital F, who art in heaven, Our father, who's watching the game on TV, Our dad, to go on camping trips with, Roasting marshmallows at dusk Our daddy, a strong neck to hold on to When we are too weak to walk Our papa, the second face we register When we are born onto the earth Our pa, pop, Old Man, tata, head of the house A man, a person, a being with graces and faults Pa, a cluster of memories Of popsicles on the way home from school When mom wouldn't allow it Of walks to the park and the playground Of being taught how to ride a bicycle Then pa morphed to dad, and then to father Our Father, distant, almost unaware of his existence Father, to be prayed to, to be worshipped A father who is not a dad at all What is a father? Who is our father? A man who loves us unconditionally A man who sets an example for future generations A man, surrounded by family, in a warm home A man who is honoured because he deser

Hold the stress in the palm of the hand, crush it, and watch it sprinkle to the ground, so fine and pink it looks like it could be crusted on cupcakes. Send the thought "I'm not good enough" into a wooden crate and place it in a freight ship bursting with cargo. Watch the ship slowly drift away, into the ocean, across endless blue. When the throat and face get hot with envy and rage, cool them with a sip of cold chocolate kisses, melting down the throat, coating the mouth in sugary goo, preventing a regretful word from being said. When sadness triggers the eyes, let them be, let the tears flow down the cheeks and dribble from the chin. Let the tears dry on the soft skin and leave a trace of conspicuous emotion, as if the face were bathed in salt water. Grab the fear from the crevices of the diaphragm and exhale it all. Like bad smoke, it only rots the lungs, for fear has no place in the body. Feel it burn a little as it rolls out the nostril, and floats away with the

This is how you should act if you want to be a tease Just drop a pen and twirl around 360 degrees Bite your lip and shoot a glance that will make his heart raw And wear a shirt that reveals just a sliver of your bra Ask a question that you definitely know the answer to Then nod and smile and act as if he's a genius to you Compliment his scent and ask if he likes yours Then yawn and sigh, play hard to get, as if he is a bore When your lips are a shade just right When your dress is almost too tight When your smile is fake and bright When you're sad, alone at night This is when it's time to tease To have the men beg at your knees To have them buy you champagne and flowers So that you're occupied at every hour To disguise your loneliness with a mad, feigned power

There's a well known psychological phenomenon known as the "spotlight effect," which claims, basically, that people are selfish, and that no one really cares about our perceived flaws as much as we ourselves do. Every person is in the centre of his or her tiny universe, so of course, any rupture to the tranquility of one's world results in [perceived] chaos. For example, there have been studies that prove that we overestimate how much other people really care about us. In the Thomas Gilovich study, researchers asked participants to walk into a crowded lecture hall wearing an embarrassing shirt. Every participant highly overestimated the amount of people who even noticed their shirt, missing the mark by as much as 500%! What does this mean, and why am I writing about this during my 3 am blogging rambles? I guess I've been highlighted in a lot of photographs recently. As I've written in some previous posts, I'm quite self-conscious of my appearance (as man

I woke up, again, with sweat drenching my back, gluing my night shirt close to my body. I had a nightmare, the same one I've had many a time: in the dream, I am sleeping in my bed, but when I look down to my toes, I can't see them, because I have a very bulging, very pregnant stomach. I gasp for air, panic, cry. Then I wake up. I'm not from another era- I know perfectly well how to avoid unexpected pregnancies. Yet this is a fear that has burrowed into my psyche and which springs up when my body is trying to rest. Perhaps the fear is not the pregnancy itself- it is the fear that I will never want a child. It is the fear of...babies. While other women my age already have this maternal instinct, a drive to squish chubby cheeks and fantasize about cribs, I am ambivalent about babies. I can't fathom what drives a woman to momentarily give up her body, to sacrifice a portion of her career, and to devote her life to a crying blob without a formed personality, without hopes or

I thought I was a rose, full bloom But I'm a budding cherry blossom So many days and dusks ahead So many raindrops to consume Until my petals drop It is a seasonal beauty A spectacle, in awe My whole life is but a season Of infinite springtimes on this earth Look at the cherry blossoms They taunt you with their delicate pink skin You want to grasp it, want to own it But they flutter in the wind So few days and dusks ahead So few raindrops to consume So few times to look to the sky And marvel at the moon Perhaps we have fifty more springtimes to see Fifty more cherry blossoms Fifty more times to eat birthday cake Fifty more times 'til we go with the blossoms The earth is infinite, but we are finite Love is immortal, but we are mortal The cherry blossoms will still stand Even when we're not budding anymore

i. Moss If only I could become one with the earth. I would lay down on the sweet scented grass. I would sink so low, into the moss, dried leaves, and crushed up Coke cans. I would be a part of the undergrowth itself, with the ants crawling into my shirt sleeves. I would be back home. ii. Toads There's something in the way that he looks at me. I wouldn't call it butterflies. They are more like giant toads, gurgling with the pace of my heartbeat. I feel the slime clogging up my throat, and I'm unable to speak. This is real love. iv. Birds From afar, white swans look like angels, with their feathery wings and bright beaks. Up close, they look like plain geese, with thick, slimy tongues. They make the most awful sounds, and they peck the mallards. I'll never trust beauty again. iii. Rodents My kindergarten used to have a class pet. A small white bunny. My teacher got it for us so we could learn how to respect and appreciate nature. The boys in my clas

Am I pretty? She asks in vain While painting her lips pink The mirror does not answer her She needs to see a shrink While painting her lips pink She wonders if she's loved She needs to see a shrink Cause she believes in God above She wonders if she's loved If men love her for her skin Cause she believes in God above She knows the world is full of sin If men love her for her skin Does her conscience even matter? She knows the world is full of sin We lie, deceive, and flatter Does her conscience even matter? Maybe we're all just made of dust We lie, deceive, and flatter We look in the mirror with disgust Maybe we're all made of dust So what good is all this makeup? We look in the mirror with disgust Before we sleep and when we wake up So what good is all this makeup? The mirror does not answer her Before we sleep and when we wake up Am I pretty? We ask in vain

Growing up is realizing that Everyone and everything is full of sh** You smile but you really want to quit This world of Netflix, movies, sex, fame Everyone listens to the same music Everyone is the same Growing up is knowing Life isn't just, it's the complete opposite of We get where we get because of the people we know Not due to our talents, & our beauty died long ago It's a slog, a daily grind The only time I see the sunshine Is when it streams from the window in the room Will I be working here 'til I'm in the tomb? Growing up is... terrifying But grown ups aren't afraid of dying So we eat, cry, drive, and pray Day by day by fateful day Make this acrid fear go away In my mind is where I want to stay Where the skies are forever grey

Inside me, is a cavity That I've tried to fill with Wine, tears, and an assortment of calamities I've even tried to mask it with this thing in the corner Of my imagination, that I clumsily label "God" Still, I can't will myself to rid of this monstrosity Eating through my chest like acid I feel it in my sleep, in my nightmares At work, school, and carnival fares Keeping me caged so that Everything tastes bland, just as the Puritans like it Sugar tastes like medicine; pleasure's uninvited  No, the cavity can't be mended with a bandaid or a kiss From Prince Charming rising out of the abyss Every time that I look in the mirror and sigh The cavity deepens as I curl up and cry The cavity rots when I wish to be someone else A bird, a fairy, any creature with a pulse  Who isn't me, 'cause all I see, is a gaping cavity A reflection of sorrows and mortality Like a beggar on the side of the road I weep for a numbness