Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I couldn't wait to hear about the first female president of the United States. I could picture Clinton's inauguration speech: with tears in her eyes, she would promise to be a flaming beacon of hope for women and minorities in North America and around the world. But then, things got crazy. I didn't want to believe that Clinton's bigoted contender, Donald J. Trump, had any chance of winning the election. I was in denial yesterday night, but the results are official today: Trump is Mr. President, and Melania our First Lady. What an unimaginable downgrade from Barack and Michelle Obama. As an ESL-teacher-in-training, Trump's morals (or lack of) and stereotypes about immigrants, women, and visible minorities offend me immensely. His promise of "extreme vetting" of Muslim migrants, his plan of building a higher wall between the U.S. and Mexico, and his utter disrespect for the Black Lives Matter movement all unfortunately reflect the beliefs of the majori...

As a young person, my attitude towards life, others, and myself in general is constantly in flux. And I'm learning, over and over again, the old-age adage "if you keep doing things the same way, things will stay the same" (or something along those lines). It's true: if you don't change your attitude, your behaviour remains the same, and you are stuck in a never-ending replay of a car crash that you can easily avoid, but choose not to. From various life experiences, these are the "Seven Deadly Attitudes," if you will, that might not necessarily keep you locked in purgatory, but which will make your life on Earth feel hellish. 7. Anger No one likes an angry person. Someone who is perpetually red-faced is not nice to be around, but he is mostly harming himself. Having an angry attitude towards life means, roughly: lashing out at others and using anger to disguise more vulnerable emotions, such as pain and sorrow. Basically, you puff up like a porcupine...

What do you do when everything you have been working for For let's say, the good past eight years Goes up, up, up To reach a climax The tip of the rollercoaster The momentum The adrenaline That goes down, down, down and around In grooves and loops and exciting angles What happens when that climax Never comes? And you're left there, facing upwards, in a halt Simply trying to not fall back down to where you came from See, I've tried, I've really tried I've prayed, and I've bled and I've cried I thought I got better in all I did I improved my writing I improved my relationship building Busted my bad habit forming Achieved all the grades I wanted to Made friends, lost friends, travelled around Wrote a mammoth 40-page senior goddamn thesis Then I applied to my master's program and I got Waitlisted And the uphill battle came to a stop A deafening screech of the wheels Silence What now? Panic Well, I thought I was smart enough, pret...

When the snake slithers under my door, let him do it Let him test how much I can take, take my heart and chew it When the clock ticks and time gets too thick to erase Let him steal all my time away and call it the chase When my self esteem withers away, help me do it Assist me as I take the world in my hands and say screw it When the snake poisons my vein, let him do it It's just a small sacrifice for the pain, no more to it Injected with this liquid that makes me another me Rejected by this twisted ghost and I become my enemy Long ago, I thought I was stronger But I can't take the grief any longer Passion or cocaine, same drug different name I am the only person to blame for the pain So when the snake slithers into my chest, let him do it Let him cut out my weak heart and chew it, Nothing more to it.

I've been fooled all my life Hearing, hun, it will get better We have beauty in our pockets And time stuffed into lockets It only gets better from here Yet here I kneel, defeated, oppressed My mind a steam engine, obsessed All this time I thought I was blessed But really all I am is stressed I detest the soothing words The sweet utterances That fooled me Hun it's gotten better Hun no need to fret Hun just forgive and forget Don't you know your manners yet? I am not a lady I am not a fool I'm the victim of oppression Of fiends with an obsession Of all things wicked and vain I am not a lady I am a woman I am blessed Here, on earth, the snakes stand tall Everything is warped here on the ground When serpents coil around my neck Everyone says, hun it will get better But I'm telling you I am blessed There is no justice here, no alibi There are twenty five reasons for me to cry None for the snakes because snakes are dry No justic...

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...

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'm not usually intrigued by superhero action movies, but since I work at the cinema, I can't resist seeing some blockbuster action flicks from time to time, the newest one being Iron Man 3. Although the movies are based on comic books, I still like to do a literary overanalysis of the characters, their flaws, and the hidden messages that they're portraying about our society. Popular media defines society as it is in the moment. For example, back in the post-war days, literature was depressing and scrutinized the advance of the Industrial Revolution and lack of individualism (take into account Virginia Woolf or Sylvia Plath). Now, our society seems to hail the cynical hero- the one who makes snippy remarks, has low moral standards, and consumes himself with one-night stands- the jerk. The greatest example of the cynical jerk superhero is Iron Man. The newest Iron Man movie had a simple, predictable plot line (nerd wants revenge, things get blown up, pretty girl, nerd b...

Oh how I’d love to Wrap my arms around you Not in a loving way But in a way that would leave you breathless Like a sardine out of its can Would you like that? Would you like to be salmon served in Japan? Would that make you a man or is that not your plan? Although, months ago Things made no sense I was slow with nowhere to go You came to my funeral and sat in front row Now I’m tense for you smiled At the expense of my bones And the pain that ran through them Now they’re dry, bone dry Cold as stones I’m kneeling, all alone and I try To forgive the sweet salmon you are I look up to the sky And I know that I’d love to Leave you on a patch of cement Ladies and gents, here is a man with no plan A fish out of water, dear old Dan I’d charge a fee of two cents To see you cry And a five-dollar bill Just to see you try.

My husband stole milk from the neighbour's farm, He told me that I ask him for too much. I told him that I'd cause him raw harm, Now he retracts at the threat of my touch. My husband didn't come home for the night, He left the milk on the doorstep to rot. He and his pals went to grab a quick bite, Between smokes and beer chugs he forgot. This morning we ate dry cereal and bran, Because my husband is a lazy old man.

Feeling just a bit desperate (Like those people on the subway who feel the need to check their phones the second the train goes above ground for 3.5 milliseconds and they receive 200 new texts and 20 missed calls) Desperate for a wholeness that I can't seem to reach (But even when a nail is hammered into a wooden door, they are not whole but merely co existing until the wood rots or someone hangs a picture frame that's slightly tilted and the nail is taken out, away, far away from the door) Desperate because I want you around me, on me, beneath me and in me (simultaneously, continuously, and precariously) but at the same time I want you to forget, regret, fret, and direct your whole being to anything but me Because I wish I were a mellow melon instead of a melodramatic drama lemon, sour and cold and bitter, a lemon that stings open wounds when taken out of the refrigerator and rots on the table and is left alone in the fruit bowl as everyone takes the bananas and gra...

I’d say That I’m doing okay If okay means having A heart led astray I’m not okay, okay? Because okay is a term That describes a full-time Teacher or office worker Who is content with life Who is the past the mid-life blues Who is actually doing Okay. I’d say I’m not okay because I want to take a piece of sodden cloth and shove it down a rusted pipeline, clog it and watch the thick grey water leak through the edges then rush over the bolts and I want to take a sledgehammer and crack the kitchen sink in two, let the water flood the tiled floor, the cat running for life, the half washed dishes sinking to the bottom, the plastic mugs rising to the top like buoys on a river of madness. Then I want the water to rush through the entire apartment and stain the carpets and seep through the floor so that the neighbours downstairs get disgusting little drops of kitchen water on their heads, and complain to the manager that I should be terminated. I want the...