Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I've resided in many homes,  in many cities and towns,  in multiple countries, in my life I The first one I can remember was in Poland, a bright carpeted bedroom Where I would listen to poetry audiobooks as I drifted off to sleep I'd recite them by heart in the morning II When we first moved to Canada, we stayed a few nights in a motel room I thought it was the most exciting thing ever Eating Wendy's for dinner III There's a nostalgic bliss of all the time before my tenth birthday An innocence I can only strive for in my dreams Building forts from an old couch in my room IV Our very first house, but not much of a home A backyard that lacked grass and laughter No siderails leading to the basement V We never liked the view, leading to the driveway Maybe that's why our cat ran away And we got a new friend VI A blip in time, the cats multiplied A new house that wasn't meant to last On a crumbling foundation VII Teenage years spent sulking on the bed Laptop warming m...

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...

Inside me, is a cavity That I've tried to fill with Wine, tears, and an assortment of calamities I've even tried to mask it with this thing in the corner Of my imagination, that I clumsily label "God" Still, I can't will myself to rid of this monstrosity Eating through my chest like acid I feel it in my sleep, in my nightmares At work, school, and carnival fares Keeping me caged so that Everything tastes bland, just as the Puritans like it Sugar tastes like medicine; pleasure's uninvited  No, the cavity can't be mended with a bandaid or a kiss From Prince Charming rising out of the abyss Every time that I look in the mirror and sigh The cavity deepens as I curl up and cry The cavity rots when I wish to be someone else A bird, a fairy, any creature with a pulse  Who isn't me, 'cause all I see, is a gaping cavity A reflection of sorrows and mortality Like a beggar on the side of the road I weep for a numbness ...

At ten at night a fair lady releases her flowing hair And opens her window to let in fresh air Not knowing that a fairy has come in with the breeze Who will describe all that he senses and sees The fairy, hid behind a bucket of salts Watches her as she exposes her faults The chipped red paint on the nail of her toe Revolts the poor fairy, but he refuses to go For she starts to unzip her speckled blue top And her two heaving breasts break out and drop Never a more putrid sight did he see Than nipples the size of mulberry trees She then removes her lashes, her eyebrows, her lips Then, yawning, into her bed she sleepily slips The fairy, wanting to take a closer look at the doll Flutters up to her ear and begins to crawl He travels right into her big, waxy ear And discovers great galaxies there In her head she has worlds so vast and sublime That make him forget the odiousness of her slime She has novels and poetry stored to the roof of her skull Mathematics, biology, a...

It's that time of night, either 11 or 2, When I start to get the headboard blues There's nothing more awkward, we can agree Than hearing your neighbour in ecstasy I'd rather be woken to birds in their nest Than a pursuant "yes, yes, YES" The sound makes you too human, too real I've seen you check your mail, and I've heard you squeal I've seen you walk your dog and I do confess I get uncomfortable when you say the word "yes" The headboard noise is probably the worst I stare at the ceiling; ah, I've been cursed I play some music and curl into a ball Waiting patiently until you finish your brawl What you do in your home is your own affair Just letting you know: I'm also there Creepy, right? Those are apartments, you see But let me nag you, if only indirectly I'd rather listen to five kids crying at once I'd rather hear twenty-five basketballs bounce I'd rather be woken by a tiger's roar Or of a teenag...