Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

Don't you know they're all the same? Every bouquet is picked from the same field Every lily and every tulip and every forget-me-not Has been forgotten by someone Because the flowers, they're all the same All lips possess that fleeting sweet taste That's erased by your afternoon tea The same tongue that we all possess Can be used as a spear or as a lullaby The tongue can say things to make us cry Yet all lips and all tongues taste the same Isn't it true, that all hands are the same? Warm, with blood rushing through them Matching perfectly with my hand Yet all hands fit together like jigsaw pieces All the hands in the world tied together by a string The hands, they are all the same What is different? The soul? The sparkle in the eye that reminds us That our inner demons and angels lie not In our capacity to love, or to kiss or caress The only difference between us is One person possesses his self-worth in his soul While the other values himself ...

It was a kiss by a stream In a lopsided dream That brought back the days Of an amiable phase My heart like a machine When I saw your name on my screen My heart pumping oil But my love wouldn't broil For I did it all wrong And I worried too long Like a bird sings its song I should've fluttered along It was never love, not at all For to love is to crawl On a cold basement floor To a fiery red door But to know it's all right For the love glows so bright I just took any old fruit That looked kind of cute I'd grab a fresh pear And show it great care Then I'd drink some sweet liquor And put "love" on the sticker Of this useless green pear That I devoured to air It was a kiss by a stream In a lopsided dream That bore the fruit of my sin And crawled like ants on my skin

Be free of my pain as it gnaws at my chest See through my soul as I become undressed Rip through the tatters, then you will see A bloody broth stirring inside of me You bleed chocolate and I breed shame You seek calmness and I need flame A dire distraction, is all this seems When it's only chaos I see in my dreams So feed me turmoil, it's what I live on Do me no justice, although it feels wrong Rip through the tatters, then you will see A soul polluted with helpless debris

He was the type of guy who would drink luke-warm Molson straight from the can. Then he would pass the can to me and I'd leave my strawberry lipstick on the rim. We'd sit there for hours staring at each other and it would be most natural silence. It made me feel at ease. Then one day he told me that he wanted to swim far away and I nodded and said I liked to swim too. We were young, you know. Youth is the deadliest disease. So we stripped to our underwear and he bit his lip when he noticed the blemish on the side of my hip. He pinched my stomach in a way that was both childish and suggestive. I smiled and said we should swim. The problem was that we had no idea where to swim to. We sat at the end of the dock half-dressed and split another Molson. It was hot as a cup of tea, as it was basking in the sun with us all day. But we were young and diagnosed with youth and infatuation.* He said that he loved me. And the step from infatuation to love is one that is large and full of ...