Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I looked into the mirror and did not believe That this was actually me Just a heavy black cloud with teardrops for eye sockets, pouring down my chin The rolls of misery drip drip drip drip Mascara streaks, not streaking, no, but eating Eating my cheeks once so perfectly dabbed with rosy blush Eating them away like acid, Soot Black Puffy eyes so sad So miserable So Monstrous. Is this actually me or is this some fictional creature in a dream? Like a ghost from the Shining like the dead woman from room 217 like a death eater swallowing souls of the innocent like an undead soldier Like Death. Is it possible to look like death? Because that is what I saw. If death had a face, it would be that of mine in that polished mirror with the mint green walls on the sides and water on the countertops drowning my textbooks, drowning my sorrow, spilling onto the floor and just pure misery etched into every crevice of my face, every pimple like a canyon of b...

A real woman Is made of flesh, blood, and pride She reveals her thoughts from inside One day she smiles and tomorrow she cries At times she has a dreadful glare in her eyes If she pleases, she belches after a can of beer A real woman is bold and suppresses her fear She listens to a man but does not obey him She leads her own life but never betrays him In an elegant dress she enjoys making heads spin A real woman knows she's more than makeup and skin In a tee and khaki pants she feels better than ever She cares for herself 'cause she's not young forever She jogs in the mornings with her pulse beating fast Stepping through mud puddles, she's having a blast Though unintentionally, she crushes many young hearts She learns from her past because a real woman is smart No, she's not a lady, her style is rather fragrant than mild She does as she pleases. A real woman is wild.

When I was younger, I truly believed That angels walked on the clouds. Which is why, when I strolled down the streets, I would never see angels around. My first frightful time going overseas, My hands clenched in my lap on the plane. I was searching for those angels to soothe me, But instead there was just overcast rain. That's when I knew that I was alone, A minuscule body in the ocean of fear. There was nobody, no saint above my head, And what was below me was cruelly unclear. Not knowing why, I searched the sky, Hoping that an angel would caress me. But every time I glared in the sun, The scorching light would possess thee. I crouched in the alleyway and I cried, Soot black mascara bleeding down my cheek. Never have I been so defeated, Never have I been so weak. On this dark gloomy night I realized... The people on the street were ablaze. Not on fire, not demonic, not putrid. They seemed to be kissed by sun rays. I blinked once, twice and then thric...

"I am an angel," she thought, As she braided her hair in the clouds. Humming the melody of the doves, And muttering church worthy prayers aloud. She knelt in the cloud dunes and sighed, When something horrid caught her by surprise. A mirror stood not far from her feet, And in it she saw her unfaithful eyes. Her lips were no longer sweet honeyed cherries, Instead, they were red hot and ablaze. Her pupils were aching, releasing grey smoke, And her strands of dull hair were a craze. Her stomach no longer craved mushrooms and pie, She longed for a thick piece of bread. And on it, meaty slices of a few men's hearts, Their blood tastier than butter spread. She ripped the wings off her back, Bent her golden halo 'til it broke. Euphoria cleansed her every organ, Surrounded by flames as she awoke.

Why did I let the bluebirds die, For chirping at my sill? Why didn’t I sob instead? Why did it feel sweeter to kill? They sit and chirp and sing all day, Resting petals at my door. Pink and creamy ivory bouquets, That I leave to rot right on the floor. Scowling in front of the mirror at dawn, I pace ‘til I dull the rug in my room. While the bluebirds plague me with their voice, And pity me as I succumb to my gloom. I am exactly who I don’t want to be, The thought tickles me in the spine. A spot of blush and a glass of venom, I thought they would make me divine! The birds, they’ve gone, I miss them so, They tasted my fear and flew. Only the carcass of remorse remains, Reminding me of you.

As wounds do heal and shape into scars, So does my mind as I lay under the stars. To think, one day, my heart will stop beating, And some soul will be faced with my distasteful greeting. The warm hand that I often caressed, Will be deprived of life and all of its zest. The bells will chime and my children will cry, Naïve to the fact that someday they, too, will die. This is the life that you were granted, a gift. Why in God’s name would you curse and waste it? Why do cruel deeds mean anything to you at all? Why do you help those who laugh when you fall? There is an objective in life, to make sense of a maze, Not to leave this world leaving loved ones ablaze. If you suck the charm of virtue, you are a dunce, So make the most of your life, because you only live once.

I am a rose, My heart budding. My stem grows, My tears flooding. Refrain from touch, My thorns prickle. Just try to kiss me, Blood will trickle. Confine me to a vase, I will break free. I’ll burn you inside, As you did to me. I am a rose, My heart sheer. I am a fighter, My future is clear.