Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I used to be a scared 'lil lamb Threatened by the horns of every ram In the pond I used to see All my flaws staring back at me I liked to blend in with the flock In a sea of sheep out on the dock In the world I did not trust And after wolves I always did lust Now I've shed this woolen coat I'm friends with ever pig, and horse, and goat I don't fear a wolf in sheep's clothing 'Cause I'm fed up with sick self-loathing I roam the meadows at sunrise No longer obsessed with my demise And in my reflection, all I see Is a lone, brave wolf staring back at me

Remember the days we feared the gods? Neither do I, or maybe we just forgot I think we need a little superstition To quell our aching ambition We need to honour the moon and sun Just as the cavemen had done To find awe in the things all 'round Before we jumped in tech and drowned If we were to hunt our next meal We'd starve collectively, I feel Because we're even too cowardly to look In the beast's eyes whose lives we took It's simply sliced and put on display In a supermarket on the way Yes, we need to get back to our roots Take off our socks and high heel boots It's okay to feel a little scared It is how our ancestors fared Life shouldn't be riding on a cloud Idle hands make the devil proud So when you dwell into the woods Don't forget that the gods are not all good They teach us lessons as we preen Gluing our eyes to our phone screen If you're famous and if you're clever Doesn't mean you'll live forever We may be great, but there's...

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...

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 ...

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...

On Halloween Eve I attended a feast Where friends were disguised as brilliant beasts Amid all the rags of black, grey, and plum My red dress blotted the floor with red rum I was the Queen of Hearts for one night Flattered by men who blushed at my sight I was a caricature of women who rage I was a damsel from the Victorian age Though I was proposed to by all the males I rejected them at the swish of my scarlet red nails There was one man, in the corner of the room Who caused my intrigue to tenderly bloom He was not a clown, a cowboy, or an ape He was a skeleton in a flowing black cape This sort of blasphemy I've never seen To dress as the Reaper for Halloween He transformed a holiday of fun and fear Into a reminder that death is too near He left to the garden, and I followed and whined And told him his costume was way out of line He turned his head and I shuddered at his face Which was a skeletal, bleached disgrace "Sir, I demand you unmask your brow! ...

No, he didn't treat you like a friend, Because he neither cared for you nor took care of you when your heart bled. He didn't treat you like a lover, Because, like a werewolf, he turned into human form only in the sunlight, and he escaped before you could see, in its entirety, the beast that you had spent the night with. He didn't treat you like a God, Because he neither feared you, nor respected you. He didn't even try to disprove your very being. It was not even worth it. He was the one you called "home," honey I'm home, home sweet home, A home with a welcome mat stained with reminders that you are not his home, but his backyard, an old tire swing just for fun. You love thy neighbour, and forgive thy enemy, and bleed when his heart bleeds, But he does not exist. Opposite to a god, he fears himself, and disrespects himself, He is homeless, for fear of getting caught in the honey at the door, when he says, honey I'm home! Like a poor ...

We like to wonder about what is to come Because the unknown is thrilling And the known is nothing but Stale coffee and broken staplers Every corner of my life has a dent in it Or a pothole or a mud stain or A dragon behind the door With great fangs and the back arched Waiting for things that haven't happened yet Worrying about things that might not happen And all these things are illusions Delusions Confusions They're a different sort of suffering Wondering what is to come Is a self injected needle filled with Blood from a dying pheasant As the bird wonders if it should Stray to the wolf's jaw or just wonder How it would be like to be brave (Or an idiot, you choose) Like a horse with blinders on And a flamethrower for a tail I speed towards uncertainty The hooves chaffed and the wings scorched And the rider gone astray Talking about the future Only my demise is certain And the rest is a brew Of good days and better days Days where I'm a ...

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...

Sartre is an existentialist philosopher. Meaning that he believed that our lives are comprised solely of the choices that we make. Although external factors have the ability to influence our actions, we are ultimately responsible for the decisions that we make. He argues that life is a “line segment.” We are all afraid of the end, because this is when we will cease to exist, and we will have no hopes or worries for the future (which is such a unique human ability). Although death is a well-known fact that lingers in our minds, it is not felt until we experience the “cliff of death”- the death of a loved one, or if we see someone die... this is when we peer down the cliff of nothingness. This is the moment when we realize that death is a fact of life, that we are just fragmented line segments in a big sea of nothingness. Even though we are fully aware that we can die tomorrow or next week, we still do boring mundane things like study for tests and go grocery shopping. Wh...

I'm a fish on the concrete A can of pop half-sweet Lollipop in my hair Shadows everywhere Truth is, I'm terrified Of the vultures in my mind Of the ravens in my chest Of the ruptures on my breast Of the large hand on the clock Of the beckoning tick tock Of my desire for a feast Of my lusting for a beast Of the empty castle walls Of the porcelain white dolls Of the risk I never took Of my fancies for a crook Of the choices I have killed Of the gaps I wrongly filled Of the tears upon the floor Of the bodies on the shore Truth is, I'm terrified Of my self.

When I looked into your eyes, I saw blue dragon's feet on a platter, I saw raw hatred, killing batter, I saw a rabbit roasting over a fire, I saw a sunken-faced orphanage choir. When I looked into your eyes, Sharpened arrows ripped my flesh, The wound hollowed, open and fresh, (Like a coconut that's been cracked in two, The juice sweet and mellow just like you). When I looked into your eyes, I was reminded of a time of despair, Of your grin and my bottle blonde hair, Of a swig of courage that caused much pain, Of a wintry day, below zero, all rain. When I looked into your eyes, I knew that you were the nectar of misery, I knew that you did not deserve my sympathy, Because you killed me underneath clear skies, Whilst looking into my broken eyes.

There is an hour of the night when Dogs are four-legged demons and  The doorknob is a gargoyle's eye and  The moonshine stains the walls With the things that I want to forget. It is at this time of night when My pillow is downed with bricks My blanket suffocates me like a snake and I lie there in a soup of my own sweat. My tears become so heavy that They clog my throat instead of my eye As midnight turns to three o'clock  I squirm like a night-light child because I'm scared of the monsters under my bed. I've met real monsters before, I have I've seen them, they've touched me, they have Although I don't remember their faces I know that they had claws and harsh voices and They had no restraints at all. There is an hour of the night when I press my left thumb to my right palm and I pretend that you're holding my hand and The monsters blend in with the moonlight But I’m still so… I'm so ...

My own misery has started to take pity on me, Butterflies nibbling at my nerve. Monarchs with jaw full of rigid canines, Ready to deliver my soul what it deserves. Cowardice be gone! Yet it loathes the underworld, Therefore it lingers on me like a leech on puffed flesh. No matter how greatly I yearn to break it down, Bravery is beheaded and despair is refreshed! My heart is a few beats away from extinction, Yet I ponder and meander around aimlessly. No purpose, no emotion, no loving, no joy, With genuine misfortune teasing and enveloping me. The truth is that I love being a little less than my best, And I thoroughly enjoy losing clamorous wars. But maybe, just one time, I can decapitate cowardice, So that I would not have to be afraid anymore.

Peering out the dusty window Rain pattering on the sill… My eyes long to be bloody free Yet my glare remains completely still For there is nothing other which is on my mind Except the brilliance congested within The parasites inside me wish to be gone Crawl away ‘til their carcasses reach Berlin For I so desperately desire To be able to read your mind Not a trace of emotions abandoned Not a shred of thought left behind If only I could read you like a novel With words printed, crisp and clean Scrawled all over your clothes and neck Secrets unravelled and out to be seen For your fruitless gaze withers my soul Monotonous gestures damage my scabs ‘Till I feel uncertain if I am worth it at all And my heart is chopped like veal, into slabs Yes, if only your existence was written in words That any warm blooded human could unseal It would be joyous, but on the other hand I am afraid as to what it would reveal

Ravens roost in the crevices of my rib cage No, not only do they torment flabby pieces of skin They peck away at me from inside out Their needle sharp beaks pinning delicate human characteristics in vain Long, slender yet deadly wings as black as soot and as enraged as Poseidon’s sea Those wings that cannot leave me be…

Like a rustic, rabid beast He prowls the night for traces of crust Left over in the tin garbage cans Smothered in layers of slimy, thick dust His eyes slice my heart much like A fresh blade drilling deep into a man's face Oozing blood dribbling onto the tiled floor With a mind of their own, droplets all over the place I am infatuated with this muscled creature My diligent fear dissolves into joy Like a pill of ecstasy in a mug of warm water My mind goes high when around this boy It is dismal that he is unable to see me No matter how hard he would try I am invisible, untouchable, an angel He's a demon from the underworld and I'm from the sky Who knew, that the rumours were true Opposites can't attract, let alone co-exist But those smooth, slick lips taunt my nerves Tongue covered in ashes so tough to resist I watch him from above my cloud He can be seen in the deepest pit of hell Oh loathsome, irresistible devil, How daringly I wish to rebel ...