Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

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...

There was something about the way he talked. He made anyone who was near him feel a sudden sense of unease. The way his words shot from his mouth like hot bullets, maiming all those who were in his proximity. There was this peculiar way he squinted his eyes so you weren’t sure if he was falling asleep or straining his eyelids to keep himself focused on evildoing.             He was the type of man who didn’t believe in God. He was cynical about absolutely everything, from the long line up at the coffee shop to the very meaning of existence. In fact, he told me that he killed God. We were sitting out on the front porch one nigh staring at the stars. What do you see up there? he asked me. The heavens, I said. He smirked and told me that he killed God long ago. I thought the idea was impossible. And then he said in a suddenly stern voice: I have something to tell you. Because I’m wiser than you. I’m a man. I’ve been through more tha...

That is the problem with the young and educated of today. They talk a lot and they claim to know a lot but really they know nothing at all.  We can talk all day about the bright futures we have ahead of us, the futures generously donated to us by our parents, who have loved us and provided for us since we were babies.  Yet inside we are the same feeble, irrational creatures as we were in the womb.  We think we can get away with anything by choking up a little tear in the eye, by refusing to pick up our toys and toils after we’re done with them, by saving money for an Irish cream coffee instead of putting it aside to pay back for the debt of our selfishness.  We are babies, wrapped in the disguise of immaculate men and women.  We are babies, with translucent skin and a hunger for the primitive needs, of leisure and pleasure and enough vodka to fill an aquarium.  We are more childish than we were at thirteen, for w...

In high school, the "university experience" was mystical. It was something that was on everyone's tongues throughout senior year. We'd fantasize about the parties we'd attend, the friends we'd meet, and the freedom we'd have away from public education. We'd go to university fairs and university representatives would come to our high school, shoving colourful pamphlets in our faces featuring smiling students sitting in poppy fields with books in their hands. University. A new chapter in my life. A step into adulthood. And it is nothing as I expected it to be, nothing like the candied university booklets I received by the dozen in high school. Here are some raw facts about university life, and the things I learned during my freshman year: The "university experience" is mostly one of cramming for tests and exams. In high school, you may have had a test every now and then, and exam periods once during a 5-month semester. In university, you ha...

What is alcohol? A high school student would describe it as a very grown-up drink, a lick of courage, a bottle of beer the ticket to the party, the admission to a grown-up way of living. For a college student- a lifestyle. Everyone forgets about ping-pong when there's vodka pong and pass-out pong. A casual chat with friends accompanied by a glass of poison makes the chat so much more interesting and honest. A slice of stale bread in the fridge feels claustrophobic with all the everclear bottles around it (and then the students complain that they have no money at all). For an adult it's a windshield wiper for memories, an escape into a feeling of nothingness, or un-feeling (which is, subjectively, the worst feeling of all). Traffic jams and bossy bosses and market losses, one deserves a drink after all this! For an old man it's the reason he's rolling around on a thin mattress at the hospital, his insides churning with black acid, and liquor is no longer a casino ga...

The walls around him are crumbling to ashes Grit clinging like disease to his eyelashes Sprawled on cement with his eyes fixated Drooling grimly, his pupils dilated The ceiling is beginning to cave But he has accepted that this is his grave For he traded his life for a bottle of rum, And this is the man that he has become. His breath so stagnant, it leads rats away At his sight, even the worms go astray All he longs for is a genuine kiss For he has never experienced divine bliss But as the venom wraps itself around his tongue He recalls the days when he was carefree and young And he washes it down with a poisonous sap As if it were pure water drizzling from an ethereal tap Never has he been so alone Never has he been off the throne Never has he it been so clear Never has he been in fear Never has he cared about anyone dear Never Never Never For he traded his life for a bottle of rum, And this is the man that he has become.