The Convenience Store

Yes, chivalry is dead because it was never alive. Besides, we are not knights and princesses; we are confused young adults, always looking for a convenient distraction. I hate the word "convenient." It reminds me of a gas station convenience store, with cameras installed to the ceilings, and a unisex washroom with a rickety door. This is convenience. Beef jerky on the side of the road and a quick fix of Redbull. Convenient.

I can distract myself with hours of brainless television. A few hazy nights spent at the entertainment district with the bass pounding every molecule of anxiety out of me. I can jog with headphones in my ears and my back dripping with sweat. I can spend a ridiculously long time preparing a garden salad while watching a rom com from the corner of my eye. I can soak in strawberry scented bubble bath and hum to myself. I can do all these things but I will never be able to fool my own mind. I will always seek another distraction.

What am I distracting myself from? My own soul? Is my soul an inconvenience? Am I just knee-deep in a swamp of my own distractions? Or am I painfully waiting for a convenient answer?

Yes, chivalry is dead because I've never seen it. I don't believe in things that I can't see. And I can't see ghosts or spirits. I can't see that glimmer in your eyes, the one that is like a rare jewel, the one that I've never seen before. You know that glimmer? It's barely noticeable, like a tint of brightness around the iris. It's the one speck in the whole eye that doesn't pay attention to superficial appearances or subtle imperfections. It is genuine and real. I don't believe in it because I've never seen it. But I know that it can't be picked up beside the energy drinks at the convenience store.

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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

Lost in Rio

Jesus looks over The lost souls and bones below In the jungle sun To witness such beauty And such devastation God painted with one brushstroke Merry men sing Holes in their shoes The dark night lit up By police sirens And the crescent moon Bats flail around Like me, lost in the jungle Eyes glaring all around I hope they're monkeys Or jaguars I hope I can keep a piece of This country with me Safe in my pocket It smells like tropical rain And feels like The clam shells Washed up on the shore It tastes like fried bananas And heavily salted steak Sounds like seabirds cawing Samba on the streets And looks like a page From a storybook About parrots and palm trees Of finding a golden treasure A magnificent, uneasy place When she sun goes down So do we Leaving the night To the creepy crawlers And innocent stray cats

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

Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

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