Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

Not sure if I love being angry with you, Or if I'm just angry that I love you. Maybe a bit of both, as I confess, That this perfect path has digressed. And there is nothing that makes me Feel more insecure Than not being sure If this romance is honest and pure, Or if it's a heavily masked detour. Is this romance just a dance, That happened purely by chance? If so, let me lie in the crook of your collar bone (Which I love so much) And let me use your legs as a crutch, So that I won't cry at your touch. But if this romance is something more Than a cure to our juvenile bore, Then please do let me know. I don't want to be one to Dip red roses in tar No, I want to lie under the stars, Counting each one as we go. On a midsummer night, Where the moon shines so bright, Let us examine each constellation. Let us take a long vacation, As we number each star that passes through. It would take forever, Which is how l...

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

I’ve seen you suffer during those days When you came home with your eyes dull and glazed Then you reached for the chocolates and you cried I failed to make you happier, though I tried I’ve seen you fall in love and out of it so quick You yearned for more honey just as thick Honey, the sugar will freeze with the snow And your new honey will have nowhere to go I’ve seen you malnourished as you fed On nothing but instant noodles and bread It grieved me as I rested my head on your lap To see you stuck in a sad little trap I’ve seen you happy as a person can be And on those days I was dappled with glee For you came home livelier than you usually are And in your hand you had salmon mix in a jar

            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...

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

It is hard for me to believe that twenty years have passed. Two whole decades. A new generation of kids have entered elementary school. Kids who don't have a clue about Gwen Stefani, Walkmans, or the joys of MSN Messenger. I feel old and yet so ridiculously young at the same time. Twenty is a difficult age: I'm old enough to potentially drink myself to sleep every night, but I'm still too young to be taken seriously in the workforce. Therefore, for me, twenty is all about self-discipline. Having the option to do something doesn't mean you should do it. So I'll stay in school, spending countless hours slaving over essays which will be bell curved anyway, in order to get a piece of paper that may or may not give me a head start in "the real world" (twenty year olds don't really live in the real world, you see). For now, reality as a twenty year old can be summarized in a few simple bullet points: Frozen pizza  Debating between going to class or goin...

A hermit crab dances solo on the seashore. It is desperate and confused, and it has grown out of its feeble shell, which lies in fragments underneath its claws. The crab, not knowing what to cling on to, reaches out for anything that passes by. Any breathing creatures becomes its friend and any tin can or roadside trash becomes its home. This is the danger of desperation. Alas, this confusion is a weakness of human emotion. We keep falling and falling, as in a trance, like in those dreams where one falls and then wakes up coated with sweat. But we never really rise from this continuous fall. As we fall in love- with faith or hope or passion or agony- we pray to keep falling and never reach the pits. Never static, always confused, always dumb, homeless hermit crabs without a purpose. This is human emotion; a desperate search to make sense of things that are beyond our control.