A Different Sort of Suffering

We like to wonder about what is to come
Because the unknown is thrilling
And the known is nothing but
Stale coffee and broken staplers
Every corner of my life has a dent in it
Or a pothole or a mud stain or
A dragon behind the door
With great fangs and the back arched
Waiting for things that haven't happened yet
Worrying about things that might not happen
And all these things are illusions
Delusions
Confusions
They're a different sort of suffering
Wondering what is to come
Is a self injected needle filled with
Blood from a dying pheasant
As the bird wonders if it should
Stray to the wolf's jaw or just wonder
How it would be like to be brave
(Or an idiot, you choose)
Like a horse with blinders on
And a flamethrower for a tail
I speed towards uncertainty
The hooves chaffed and the wings scorched
And the rider gone astray
Talking about the future
Only my demise is certain
And the rest is a brew
Of good days and better days
Days where I'm a princess
Days where I'm a brute
(Or anything in between the two)
Just thinking about it
Weakens
My
Mind
As I wait for the dragon
To burn a hole through the door
This is a different sort of suffering

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Miles Away

I refuse to sell my heart, not for twenty-five cents The auction is closed, ladies and gents I’ve already sold my eyes, when they caught sight of the streets So now everyone can see the beauty of my Italian retreat I sold my tongue for gelato, feeling so young Letting the wild berries dance around on my tongue I sold my feet when I traveled to see our Holy Mother in gold Like a saint on a mission, I’ll walk until I get old I sold my ears when I heard beautiful Aida open her lips Echoing through the theatre in which the ancients used to sit But I won’t sell my heart, it is still free For my heart belongs to God and not really to me My heart aches for home, too many miles away Yet for now I am here and I will live for today Yes, I sold my eyes to Italy; it’s all I can see How I wish you were here seeing these treasures with me I’ll try to buy back my sight, taste, and ears too So that I’ll be able to share these memories with you

We Pretend

We pretend that we'll live forever That tomorrow will bring something better We pretend we're not made of stars As we roam the streets and bars We pretend we'll never die That our kids won't ever cry Over the loss that is our end Every student, teacher, friend Everyone we've ever known Has a constellation they call home When the moon comes out at night I look to them to see the light To all those who did pretend That their story would never end But on some nights, breezy and clear I see the stars and they feel near I can grasp one and hold it in my hand As it takes me to another land We pretend this earth is all there is to see Yet the stars and crickets have spoken to me We pretend we'll never die Because we truly won't To someone's eye

Not Your Typical New Year's Resolutions

2016 is a big year for me and for most friends my age. 2016 means I'll transform from "Olga Taratuta, High School Graduate" to "Olga Taratuta, B.A." 2016 holds my future in its sweaty palms. The words "job," "money," "graduate school," and "scholarships" seem to have dominated my pool of vocabulary. 2016 is where I become a real adult, not the OSAP mooching fraud that I am now. But adulthood is a scam. It is a fable told by society to keep the economy in check. Adults are seduced by money. We become promiscuous, lurking the streets to make a buck. My original goals for 2016 were to: A) Get into graduate school B) Get a job C) Get an apartment D) Save, save, save! Then I realized that all those goals are money-driven to some degree. They are but cookie cutter resolutions, such as "exercise more" or "lose 5 pounds." I will not make money by aiming to make money. I have realized this ...

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