Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

They all want to takes pieces of me The bank won’t leave me be Neighbours won’t let me breathe Landladies calling me A fragment here, a small piece there To bosses, friends, and lovers To my pet and to my mother They all want pieces of me There’s not enough to go ‘round I hide in solace ‘til I’m found By exes, hexes, unanswered texts Cold calls, UPS guys, insurance guys Never knew it could hurt so much to cry Skeleton’s trembling and I don’t know why No more pieces to go ‘round No more of me to be shared I can barely cure my own heartache Can take the maximum I could take They say God never gives you more than you can bear But God never answered any of my prayers Fragments of me lining the street Pieces of my life on the wall, on the sheets Leaving a trail behind me as I embark On this new journey into the dark They all want to take pieces of me All I ever wanted was to be ...

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...

I am so tired of seeing the same person in the mirror every day Roof over my head? Check. Water and food? Check. Family? Check. Healthy? Check. Stable boyfriend? Check. Check. Check. Check. Why does it not seem like enough... It is because I am an angsty twenty-something See, we were raised during an interesting time when flip phones were a luxury in the eighth grade And MSN Messenger was the way to communicate Now, do people even communicate? There was a time when jobs were a tad easier to find Now we sit in a lukewarm pool of our depression and sulk over the youth unemployment rate We believe in nothing, no god to save us, no future for the earth's creatures and plants We just wait for the sun to devour our planet and for the oceans to flood all the major cities like it does in the movies, a modern day tale of Noah We are pessimists, us twenty-somethings What do we believe in? We don't believe in love Love is oppression! Love does not comply with our overly...

Here is a thing that you may not know about me. I hate my face. And not in a casual sort of way that is modest and attention-seeking. The self-hate for my face is real. Amid all my insecurities, from some of my unpleasant personality traits to my guilt of not working out enough (whoops!), my face, unfortunately (and quite shallowly) takes first place. Perhaps writing down this insecurity, taming it, and confining it to a series of paragraphs will help me see how senseless it is to fret so much about something, that, frankly, is irrelevant to my worth as a person, and how my obsessive insecurity might, ironically, make me a more irritable and spiteful person instead. Ever since the age of twelve, I have had acne. You know, the usual teenager "T-zone" acne on the forehead, cheeks, chin, and occasional nose and neck. Except maybe a tad worse than the "usual." That means, for the past nine years of my life, I have woken up every single day being self-conscious. I don...

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...

I do not have the capability to tell you what I am But I sure as hell can recite to you what I am not. I am not A scrap of debris to be stepped on To be wasted To be forgotten. I am not Some sort of playing field. There are no black-and-white checkers lining my stomach, are there? Chess pieces need someplace else to roam. I am not A merciless barbarian who needs no one to hold With teeth the size of elephant tusks gripping my chest… I am not I swear my life on this one- Every inch of my being is content with this, when I say- I am not Just Another Girl. And if you think so, Whatever.