Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I know too many beautiful women who hate themselves. Because they've been taught, from a young age, that their key to success and happiness is in their looks. That their long hair must be cherished, just as men cherish their careers. And not just hair...also nails polished, legs waxed, toes crammed awkwardly into pointy stiletto heels, breasts sweating uncomfortably beneath layers of padding, underwires digging into the skin, leaving pink imprints that stay there long after the bra has been taken off for the night, eyebrows plucked, skin rinsed, face powdered, arms slathered in creams that smell like strawberries. It's hard not to hate oneself when there's so many steps to remember, when walking out of the house is not as simple as walking out of the house, when one must never forget that the world is watching you. Some think that young, beautiful women don't have problems, but I haven't seen a more troubled demographic. We are constantly picking each other apa...

They say deep in the forest On every Halloween Comes alive an evil woman The worst the world has seen They say she has black eyes Nails painted burgundy Skin as pale as moonlight Hair long and feathery Drunken men lost at midnight With no place else to go Are baffled by her beauty And court the fateful beau She strikes right at the neck That’s where men are weakest They have no chance to yell Her mercy is the bleakest Who knew that such a beauty With pretty straight cut bangs Could open such an awful mouth With such remorseless fangs? The men are but her supper She rolls them in a cocoon They glisten like sad slugs Their bodies shining from the moon The black widow has claimed the lives Of more than thirty men No one has ever caught her As she hides deep in her den Sometimes she walks among us The pretty lady with the smile No one even suspects her To be a fiend so vile No one even look...

Since a young age, we girls are told That Prince Charming is raw and bold That one fateful day when our eyes do meet I’ll behold a smile and glance so sweet I’ll forever know that he’s the one Into the sunset we will run I was never told that love’s a mess A numbing game of playing chess All that’s missing are the pawns And the checkerboard is also gone Love’s not linear, but rather round Chasing one’s own tail around I want Prince Charming, and want him now But he’s out of reach, I don’t know how To be a true suburbanite With my kids, flying kites Gardening tulips at dawn While Prince Charming mows the lawn But I digress—true, love’s a mess A curse that leaves you in distress There’s no straight path to destiny It’s a forest too dark to see Against all odds I’ll venture on For my life’s barely begun My heart is sprouting, still My soul lies on the windowsill Since a ...

Like an alchemist, She had the power To change things From mundane to Beautiful; from a Serpent into a Dove; from a daisy Into a bouquet From a stone brick Into a diamond She had the power Of witchcraft and She loved the way She could use men As puppets and Women as bait Worms on a hook Pierced through the Heart. Little did she Know that a worm Has eight hearts And the men had None She loved love But was never  In love; except  with  Herself; she ate Hearts for breakfast; Legs for dessert; Like an alchemist, She changed things From ordinary To the otherworldly; Spending days And nights in the  Cold cellar where she  Worked; turning shame Into gold medallions; Morphing pain into Sterling; changing Lust into love, Selling it in batches To the men  And the women So desperate for Someone to  Hold Im...

What is a father? Who is our father? Our Father, capital F, who art in heaven, Our father, who's watching the game on TV, Our dad, to go on camping trips with, Roasting marshmallows at dusk Our daddy, a strong neck to hold on to When we are too weak to walk Our papa, the second face we register When we are born onto the earth Our pa, pop, Old Man, tata, head of the house A man, a person, a being with graces and faults Pa, a cluster of memories Of popsicles on the way home from school When mom wouldn't allow it Of walks to the park and the playground Of being taught how to ride a bicycle Then pa morphed to dad, and then to father Our Father, distant, almost unaware of his existence Father, to be prayed to, to be worshipped A father who is not a dad at all What is a father? Who is our father? A man who loves us unconditionally A man who sets an example for future generations A man, surrounded by family, in a warm home A man who is honoured because he deser...

This is how you should act if you want to be a tease Just drop a pen and twirl around 360 degrees Bite your lip and shoot a glance that will make his heart raw And wear a shirt that reveals just a sliver of your bra Ask a question that you definitely know the answer to Then nod and smile and act as if he's a genius to you Compliment his scent and ask if he likes yours Then yawn and sigh, play hard to get, as if he is a bore When your lips are a shade just right When your dress is almost too tight When your smile is fake and bright When you're sad, alone at night This is when it's time to tease To have the men beg at your knees To have them buy you champagne and flowers So that you're occupied at every hour To disguise your loneliness with a mad, feigned power

I have two lovers named Chaos and Joe One is predictable and the other's not so Chaos is wild, with a scraggly old beard Joe has fetishes that seem a bit weird Chaos has issues and takes pills of all sorts Joe likes the usual: a fine beer and sports Chaos makes me feel like one big mess While Joe makes me pitiful and depressed They still love me, sending me flowers and cake Hoping I'll be in their beds when I awake Alas, I can only exist in one place in time With Chaos and vodka, or Joe and red wine Will Cupid please strike one heart of the two To save me from this sad pit of blues? Joe, oh Joe, I see us marrying one day I see us on rocking chairs with hair all grey Chaos, dear love, I see adventures await That will never land me in Heaven's pearly gates Sometimes I want to watch the sunset with Joe Other times I want Chaos curled up at my toes We want it all: a chaotic stability A paradoxical, magnetic indivisibility We want the Chaos that life throws...

            Although you were the nicest, most beautiful woman I ever met, you were simply too good to be true. This is the last you will ever hear from me. I loved you.             R.T.             Stella found this note on her bedside table, tucked beneath a candle and a mangled copy of the New Testament. She read it over and over again, as she prepared her morning coffee and let her dog out into the backyard. She sat on her sofa and continued to stare at the note, hoping that it would make sense the more she tried to decipher it. Was there a hidden code? Was it a metaphorical verse? Stella was most hurt by the constant use of past tense in the short paragraph (I loved you) with the –d so undisguised, so brash, and so horrid, she was almost afraid to read it as “loved” instead of “love.” Richard still loved her, or so...