Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

There are castles in my mind Whole kingdoms that I've built From mud, dirt and wrong conclusions There are forests in my head Lurking with mice and owls Among the trees, I become lost Trapped in my own assumptions And distorted memories They claw at me like hawks There are castles in my mind Sometimes I'm the princess The damsel in the tower Other times, an ugly witch Holding a waxy, poisonous apple Reserved for anyone who dares come near I've created whole worlds in my head That don't reflect reality For unlike in fairy tales, In real life there are no heroes No one is all good or all bad Including myself  I am the saviour of my own empire But I am also its demise

I dreamt about a Dalmatian named Frederick  On a Tuesday night, a week or so ago Now I can't stop thinking about his pink tongue Lolling, and his happy tail swinging side To side, and his spotted paws dancing On my carpet I want a Dalmatian named Frederick Because he reminds me of my childhood Of a dog I once knew, who climbed Many stairs to reach a loft on the top floor His snout always joyous, his energy Seeping into the floor, couches, and kitchen Of course, that Dalmatian is long gone As is the energy that he summoned With his barking and whining And chomping food from the bowl Why did I dream about a Dalmatian named Frederick? Could he be a returning ghost Of a life long forgotten? When I collected all the plastic figurines From 101 Dalmatians, back when They came with the nuggets in the Happy Meal The Dalmatian brings back an innocent time He's all I can think about This spotted dog luring me into his world For one day he will meet my children An...

Life Goes on and on and on Even when the magic's gone With the redness of the dawn Life tells us to just get on Even when the sun has set Even when your cheeks are wet Dream of the loved ones you forget Until you wake up in a sweat Even then, when all is grey When God has ditched you for the day When autumn comes and leaves decay When you feel hopeless and you pray To a sad statue made of clay Even when you fly away Life gives you yet another day Life gives you more than you can bear More thorns and weights for you to wear You go on to the next affair To the women with golden hair That leave you hollow in despair But life goes on and gives no care Life goes on and on and on One day, my duck, you'll be a swan One day you will sleep half past dawn We all will wonder where you've gone But life will still go on and on Image source: https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Color-of-dawn-oil-painting-by-Dmitry-Sp...

I woke up, again, with sweat drenching my back, gluing my night shirt close to my body. I had a nightmare, the same one I've had many a time: in the dream, I am sleeping in my bed, but when I look down to my toes, I can't see them, because I have a very bulging, very pregnant stomach. I gasp for air, panic, cry. Then I wake up. I'm not from another era- I know perfectly well how to avoid unexpected pregnancies. Yet this is a fear that has burrowed into my psyche and which springs up when my body is trying to rest. Perhaps the fear is not the pregnancy itself- it is the fear that I will never want a child. It is the fear of...babies. While other women my age already have this maternal instinct, a drive to squish chubby cheeks and fantasize about cribs, I am ambivalent about babies. I can't fathom what drives a woman to momentarily give up her body, to sacrifice a portion of her career, and to devote her life to a crying blob without a formed personality, without hopes or...

I'll see you in my dreams For we've got no place else to meet Except in this one-sided fantasy Oh, a reverie so sweet I'll see you when you sleep For you're invisible when I rise Like a ghost, a lonely ghost Too shy to see with my own eyes I'll see you in the hereafter I'll see you in Armageddon I'll see you on Judgment Day I'll see you when the sun's setting Now, shush, I'll let you sleep In your cozy, little coffin Your lullaby is the night sky And the trees that moan so often I'll see you in my dreams When you visit me at night Our hearts will glow so bright Because, I know You're so afraid of the night

I dreamt last night, I'm not sure why, About pink jellyfish in the sky. They'd shine and fade as they passed me by, These mysterious jellyfish that could fly. The sky was dark as the deepest sea, The night tides had shifted for me. Down was up and up was free, Above me was the most magical quay. Take me to a time when jellyfish roamed, To a time when dreams were my home. Like Aphrodite rising from foam, Carry me to that virtuous zone. Alas, the sky is stuck in one place, Everyday I wake up to the same tired face. I fear and I ponder, am I a disgrace? In this world without jellyfish all over the place. No, in this world, there are only stars in the sky, There are gloomy figures that pass me with a sigh. Men on the platform, waiting to die, They think about it when the train passes by. They think about what lies beyond this doom, Of mundanity, hatred, and car exhaust fumes. They imagine that going back into the womb, Is like spending eternity with jell...

What is it, that you want out of life? Have a job, have a husband, a wife? You want everyone to know your name? Will you deal with depression that comes with the fame? Will you deal with your parents when they get old? Will you be able to breathe when your fingers get cold? It's a cruel world, they say, this is true We're floating on jetsam without having a clue It's a cruel world filled with killing and pain With injustice and horrors that we shun in vain I want to do something, I don't want to sit still I want to fill something that cannot be filled I want to do everything and it overwhelms me so much That I get soft and decrepit to the touch 'Cause another part of me wants to chill and just float Hoping that another person will steer the boat Floating, floating, not an island in sight Floating and weeping deep in the night

The river of 4 am. Flows through my heart and fills my brain I see moonshine in its ripples I see my pain reflected in the moon It is only at 4 am. that I can touch the moon By dipping my foot into the river To pretend that I am living two lives at once One on earth, in its predictable climate And the other in the river, to where we are all sure to return Sometimes I sleep soundly through the river's calling Other times I feel like I'm drowning at 4 am. And I know it's the river being angry at me Causing a shipwreck in my mind All the anxiety sinking to the bottom To be decomposed and eaten by tiny fish Don't be mad, river of 4 am. I always long to sleep through you But sometimes I fall into a state vanity And I just want to touch the moon

I have a dysfunctional relationship with Time Sometimes I like to play hide and seek with Time Time hides, and I try to find it I see it peeking from behind the curtains But I treat Time like a child, and I say 'Time, oh Time! Where are you?' Time just stands still, trying not to be seen And with Time frozen, I have all the time I can dream of At other times, I wish Time would move along I look at the clock as it mocks me with its tick tock As I'm stuck in a store folding socks And I dream of a day when I will be a somebody A businesswoman with a brief case and a somebody at her side And one day I can create another somebody Alas, it takes time to get promoted from being a nobody Sometimes I wish Time would turn back Because in retrospect everything seems serene What was once a heart ache is now petty What was at one time a death note is now a joke How I wish Time would comfort the poor younger me Time would say, 'Time moves on! Time heals all scar...

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

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.

Everyone needs a tree. Something stable, strong, and fruitful. I need an oak in order to see everything that is beautiful. I need a tree in order to inject the life back into me. So that my veins can be as luminous as the leaves. When it's hot and I'm suffering from anonymity, I can always rest in the delicious shade and be free. Because the tree loves me despite my constant doubt. It's because it cannot see. It just loves me inside out. It's sturdy to lean back on. To read around. To climb on. The tree is my life and when it is gone, I'm gone. There is so much about this tree that I do not know. It's roots I cannot see, although they continue to grow. I just know that it's strong. It's giving and it cares. I've never seen this oak but I know it's always there. Cause when I close my eyes and beg for mercy or a prayer, I see the same thick branches and the same tree's always there. It's my one oasis of strength. It's my...

Sitting in the waiting room Clock ticking on the wall Musky, heavy old perfume Drifting through the hall Carpet thick with dust Chair splitting at the seams Ginger cookies turned to crust Fresh milk rotted into cream Children playing with their dolls Ripping their bodies in two Clock keeps ticking on the wall We're still waiting in the queue This lady with a clipboard Calls out for a Dolore Again I've been ignored As Dolore walks out the door After days and days on end The lady greets me with a smile Finally I can attend What I've been missing this whole while She leads me through the door Which leads me to a beach A sandy white ocean shore A horizon hard to reach The waiting room is life All we know and all we see Is so trifling when we know We can't even see the sea

I had an odd dream last night. I dreamt that I looked into my bedroom mirror and instead of seeing a monotonous reflection of my face, I saw a panther instead, with its teeth bared. I felt that I had a tail, which I whipped from side to side subconsciously. My eyes were green emeralds and my pupils were dilated. My black whiskers were thick as rope but sensitive as silk threads. And my fangs were sharp enough to slice through the meaty flesh of a wild animal. It was, in a way, incredibly empowering to see myself as a beast. Imagine being a panther. You have no natural predators (except for man), no need to wear makeup or shave or stress about self-image or compare yourself to the distorted standards of society. A panther is free and powerful (at least, that's what my dream dictionary told me). Maybe, for the first time in a long while, I feel free. The truth is that, somewhere along the way from adolescence to adulthood, I lost my power. I lost my grip on the power that I possess...

I dreamt last night that we were sipping wine That you climbed for me up the grape vine My hair a mess and fingers entwined Plans for brunch at two-can-dine You planted kisses on my feet Like little candies, sticky sweet Semi smiles beneath the sheet Laughs were heard across the street Everything was out of place I wasn't even hard to chase You ripped too easily through the lace But I couldn't say no to that face I felt a raw chunk of emotion Didn't care about love's devotion Hollow heart and heated motion Was the abyss of the ocean Two-can-dine and two can lie So we both thought of an alibi You sucked the flower 'til it ran dry I never wished to say good-bye But you left to go back to your lover Of course I knew you had another So I crawled home to my mother Took three days for me to recover I wish you'd appear every night In my mind as I shut the light Then one day, I just might See your real fa...

Let’s go round on that carousel I’ll put you underneath my spell We can fight the dark all night We’ll paint ourselves in black and white Our lips will touch on the Ferris wheel My cold skin perched upon the steel If you retreat, I’ll give you pie I’ll let the chocolate spill on my thigh When the acrobats slice the air I’ll lead you to the dancing bear If you’re lost and about to slip I’ll tame the tiger with a bullwhip I’ll waste some cash and play horseshoe And win a stuffed monkey just for you We’ll eat candy apples beneath the moon And pretend it’s a lazy night in June There’s no escape from this parade But there’s no need to be afraid Climb on the horse and ride with me You will like the clowns, you’ll see ‘Cause life is just a carnival of joy I’m just a girl, you’re just a boy

I had an interesting dream last night. One that is recurring. I don't really know what it means, but Yahoo answers told me that I'm "shedding a past." To be honest this dream just scares the shit out of me and I wish it would stop. Maybe writing about it will make it go away. Let me remember how it starts... I'm sitting at some sort of diner but not eating anything. There is faint rock and roll music in the background. I have a phone with a cord (this is how I know that I am dreaming). I dial a number and a man's voice answers. "Hello?" "Hi. This is me." "What can I do for you today?" "I would like to book a funeral, please." (The man sighs and shuffles some papers, presumably looking down some sort of list). "How is Monday at two o'clock?" "I have a show to attend that day. Can it be on Tuesday?" "Very well. Who is the funeral for?" "For myself." ...

Freezing rain, on the street, on the benches like slippery sheets, on the roofs of small houses and skyscrapers alike, the world is a fridge, and we are the chopped meat that has two months to go until thawed. I lay there on a bench, unsheltered under the freezing rain, the chill of it sticking to my skin (I couldn’t get up in fear of developing an open wound) and it sucked me in. Not a sock on my foot, not a handkerchief on my leg, I just lay there nude, exposed like a snail without a shell (you could kill me with salt). My spine (a bone) pressing against the bench of stone, little bruises cropping up all across my body like hickeys from a pixie. The toes of my feet and the tips of my fingers bright red (I hoped the cardinals wouldn’t mistake them for berries). I looked at my chest and saw that it compressed to remind myself that I was breathing, although the ribs poked out so far out that I was scared they’d collapse like a rusted old dome. I could feel the ice clumps...

"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.