Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

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

Every time I close my eyes, I see the fire That aches where you burned me last I am a woman of the earth and the cool soil Where life ferments and earthworms roam I can't survive the lava that pulses beneath The crust of this beautiful land Yellow dandelions piercing the grass Emerald pockmarked with gold I wish sometimes that I wasn't a woman of the earth I wish that I were stronger I wish that my bones were made of steel And my heart of flame So that I wouldn't fall apart at every Crude remark, every Light tug, every Covert attack That rolls off the back of a fire-woman Instead, my skin is transluscent  Like the morning dew  My muscles pieced together With tree sap and mushrooms What's an earth-woman to do In a world engulfed by fire? But root herself firmly to one place Grow a network of twisting underground limbs And create a stable home To escape the chaos of this world

Some people are in our lives Meant to be loved from a distance There's nothing wrong with that It's just that we're too different Or perhaps even too alike Two north poles repelling each other A couple of lone wolves mingling A dog barking at its own reflection The same blood runs through our veins But we are not meant to know each other We're just meant to co-exist  On the same planet, but ignorant of the other A colourful scaled fish roaming the seas While a spider sits in its web in a barn One wholly unaware of the other But needing the other in some way For earth to reach an equilibrium Not everything is meant to be held forever Some things are meant to be let go Like the old school pencils at the bottom of the drawer Or the Barbie dolls in the back of the closet They're loved, but loved at a distance Admired from afar

Sometimes I feel like My insides are flooding Threatening to spill out And clog glutters in the street With all my unsatisfied ambition Sometimes I want to drown In a soup of grey water To just forget it all And become one with the tunnels, Streets, and people of the city Their shoes tracking dirt From one train station to the next Let the rain water drain it all Cleanse it all The grief and the dissatisfaction The mundanity and the boredom Of the occassional commute Let the flood take me Take us To a train station that hasn't been built yet On tracks that don't yet exist Far, far away In the meadows Where the soil can finally soak up All the grey unwanted rain

A striped, soft kitten plays with a ball of yarn Its claws digging into the bubblegum pink strands The ball is slowly unspooling Ribbons of chaos all over the living room It just takes one tug, the right way With the claw at just the right angle To undo a tight, solid material A ball of dense yarn Which is strong enough to create a sweater For cold winter nights Or a blanket to cozy up under But even the most impenetrable and versatile Of us is doomed to fall apart When a ruthless predator Prods us just so

Soon, we will live in a world where We can get everything from home And do everything we want From the sofa cushions Because the living room is No longer just the living room It is also a workplace, Doctor’s office, classroom Gym, cinema, jail Everything can be ordered online Stamped and shipped in plastic From China and Bangladesh (But forsake plastic straws in our Cokes!) You can order a week’s worth of food, Or a wedding dress, or a new cat Or tires, or even sex At the click of an app A touch of the keys Soon, we will live in a world where Robots will drive us, feed us, calm us As if we haven’t learned anything From decades of sci-fi prophecies Robots will take all the jobs From truck driver to waiter We won’t know if we’re chatting With a person filled with heart or oil That will be the peak of efficiency May we ask ourselves… What then?  

I've resided in many homes,  in many cities and towns,  in multiple countries, in my life I The first one I can remember was in Poland, a bright carpeted bedroom Where I would listen to poetry audiobooks as I drifted off to sleep I'd recite them by heart in the morning II When we first moved to Canada, we stayed a few nights in a motel room I thought it was the most exciting thing ever Eating Wendy's for dinner III There's a nostalgic bliss of all the time before my tenth birthday An innocence I can only strive for in my dreams Building forts from an old couch in my room IV Our very first house, but not much of a home A backyard that lacked grass and laughter No siderails leading to the basement V We never liked the view, leading to the driveway Maybe that's why our cat ran away And we got a new friend VI A blip in time, the cats multiplied A new house that wasn't meant to last On a crumbling foundation VII Teenage years spent sulking on the bed Laptop warming m...

Love is kind, love is blind Love is a sour lemon rind Just when we think we know  Life shows us that it isn't so As we're stumbling in the dark Looking for that magic spark Love is selfish, love is cruel Love makes us act like fools Sometimes love's a masquerade 'Cause inside we are afraid Of letting loose and letting go Of putting our hearts up for show Love's mysterious, love's a dream Love is vanilla bean ice-cream Melting on a hot summer's day Dipping our toes down by the cay Oh the joy that true love brings All the bluebirds seem to sing Love is sour and love is sweet It can be poison or a treat While I was taking a little stroll I fell right down the rabbit hole And landed right in your clutch The sparks flying at your touch Cupid has me at his feet 'Cause loving you is always sweet

I don't believe in soul mates, but I do believe That a life of happiness can be shared With someone special We're not teenagers anymore So the bar is higher The expectations are raised In sickness and in health, we promise It's easy to find someone Who will share your good times Buttered popcorn at the movies Cosmo cocktails at the bar Dancing the night away It's easy to find someone Who will declare, "I love you" Who will kiss you smoothly Like melted chocolate on your tongue It's tragically easy To hold hands at the park Feed the pigeons Go ice skating in the winter And camping in the summer Meet each other's families Buy a bouquet of roses at the grocery store What is difficult What is true love Is staying together through the storms The ones that put leaks in your roof The outside forces drip drip dripping Into your living room Your beloved grandma's death Drip The decision to have kids, or not Drip A mental breakdown Drip An awkward reunion wi...

I want to howl at the moon And be wild, be free Take these stilettos of my feet And feel the sand in between my toes Chip my nails and let my hair grow long Sing from deep within my diaphragm  Not caring how bad I sound  After all, only the bluebirds can hear me I want to spend the day drenched in the sun's heat The evenings scavenging for berries Then fall asleep under a canopy  Of a thousand twinkling stars  Is this what freedom tastes like? Sweet nectar and earthy moss? Fuzzy caterpillars tickling my ankles As I'm picking mushrooms that are safe to eat And throwing them in my basket To be wild, be free To live in the forest is a dream A landscape in my mind A regression to a time before I was born Where we didn't wear stilettos 

My mom used to say: that ’s the way the world works, hun You can’t make friends with everyone Some will love you, some will pretend Others will be with you right ‘til the end That’s the way it all works, dear Friends close, and enemies near But even when everyone around you will say That you won’t make it, that you haven’t the brain Even when one hundred people will boo you away You’ve got to believe in yourself, that’s the only way The self-preservation, the fight in you, you see You can’t let them tell you that you’re not free You’re an artist, a scholar, you’re special to me You are incredible, but not everyone will agree Though it’s not fair, that’s the way it all works Some slave away and then the others get perks You don’t get to choose where you come from, you know But you can decide where it is that you want to go You are a sunflower, you just need to find the right rays That will set your true glory ablaze You are a bluebird, but you’re ...

I'll never forget the warmth of my grandma's old gas stove In the cramped two-bedroom apartment that always smelled like smoke My grandpa would sit in his room with a cigarette in his left hand Stroking his coarse grey beard while solving a crossword puzzle My grandma would be shuffling around in her kapcie , house slippers Baking and cooking and frying and banging pots and pans Boiling strawberry jam with fresh fruits picked from her dzialka , yard And pickling cucumbers and cabbage and mushrooms in glass jars I'll never forget the sweet smell of nalesniki wafting from the kitchen In my paternal grandfather's loft, up on the fifth floor Cottage cheese crepes fried in oil, dipped in jam It was my favourite breakfast as a kid My grandpa's dog, Grot, would wag his tail and beg for crumbs Then we'd go for walks to the old town  Strolling along the cobblestoned streets of Olsztyn, my hometown The sun warming me up on a bright summer day I'll never forget my gre...

When life gives you lemons, make a lemon tart Put your soul into it and devise a new art Always thought I was brave, I was smart Now it feels like I'm back to the start Now the anxiety, it comes in big waves The pity, the anger, the blame that I crave To my heart and emotions, I am but a slave Tail 'tween my legs when I misbehave Whose love it is that I seek? When I'm senseless, drooling and weak Last night I was there, on the peak Now I'm a nobody, a freak, a geek A sad ol' person who can barely speak A mouse that spits a barely audible squeak I squeeze sour lemons into my eyes To eradicate all the parts of me I despise The squabbles, the indecency, the lies My heart rate soaring up to the skies Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone But what if I am the fool, alone? The thoughts in my head, a dull drone Talking to myself on the phone Life gave me lemons and I ate them whole Now I'm paying the price with my soul An anxious wreck, shipwreck, on the tide ...

Idle hands are the devil's workshop Or so I've been told My idle hands have been baking, Writing, reading, typing, clicking, Cooking, cleaning, washing Themselves into a slow oblivion The hands on the clock stand still Yet my hands and mind cannot Idle hours are precious when scarce But a curse when in abundance

Dear Simon, I'm writing this letter to you because I miss you dearly. It seems like only yesterday we were swimming in the creek by the estate, and you commented how my skin glows so deliciously in the sun. But you left me, and that was your choice. Now I'm stranded in this massive villa all alone, with just my echoes as company. I won't dwell on this point too much and guilt you, for I know your abandonment must be weighing heavy on your heart. I'm also writing to tell you about my recent afflictions, as I have no one else who will listen. Roughly six months ago, I began to develop a case of insomnia. Normally my eyelids would flutter closed at no later than midnight, but recently I haven't been able to sleep until three or four o'clock in the morning. When I do manage to fall asleep, the quality of rest is abysmal, filled with short nightmares and night sweats. Laura, our maid, and Helga, the cook, don't sleep in the house, of course, for they have t...

A few years ago, during the penultimate semester in my university career, a tragedy struck my classmates and me. While much time has passed, my thoughts often drift back to this time, and I wonder why it had affected me so much. In my fourth year of university, I was still under the foolish impression that I would graduate to be a top-of-the-line lawyer, a legal advocate for women's rights, a leader in the profession. It was a career path that I quickly learned was not right for me at all, but at the time, I thought it was my destiny. Hence, I took a non-mandatory tort and contract law class on Tuesdays from 6 to 8:45 pm. My professor, let's just call him Mr. F, was a loud, energetic presence in the room. He would pace around the front of the room, scribbling things on the board here and there, and using a handkerchief to mop the sweat off his brow every fifteen minutes or so. He was clearly very passionate about his career in law. The one case he taught us that struck out ...

If I could be a hedonist just for a day I'd drink and I'd gamble my whole day away I'd lay twisted up with you under the sheets And eat a copious amount of ice cream and sweets If I could be a hedonist just for a week My outlook on life would be a bit less bleak I'd bathe in wine and swim in iced tea I'd sunbathe all day near the blue sea Why are we taught that pleasure's a sin? When it's the only thing that provokes a grin I could sit all day with drool on my chin I could wear just slippers and bare my skin It's how nature intended for us to be Eating fruit, naked, beneath a pine tree Don't be afraid of the tale of Adam and Eve We've grieved enough for humanity I have not an ounce of moping left to spare Life's too short to be stuck in one square If I could believe that we could be free Then a happy hedonist, I would be

I sometimes, probably too often, complain about my day job. The hours are too unpredictable, the pay too average, the students, at times, drilling a hole through my ears and directly into my brain with the constant questions, excuses, and regular torments. But I must realize how far I have come from my very first "real" job, which I want to recount in writing, so I remind myself that life is not all that bad right now. My first job was at a very popular Canadian movie theatre chain. I was ecstatic when I got the job. It was right before Christmas time during my senior year in high school. Back then, I didn't have to worry about paying trivial bills, and didn't mind the concept of "rent," so I planned to use 100% of my earnings on truly important necessities, such as fast fashion and Burger King whopper meals. It was a truly exciting time. On the first day of training, the boss (who seemed intimidating at the time, but I now realize more resembled a ba...

I know too many beautiful women who hate themselves. Because they've been taught, from a young age, that their key to success and happiness is in their looks. That their long hair must be cherished, just as men cherish their careers. And not just hair...also nails polished, legs waxed, toes crammed awkwardly into pointy stiletto heels, breasts sweating uncomfortably beneath layers of padding, underwires digging into the skin, leaving pink imprints that stay there long after the bra has been taken off for the night, eyebrows plucked, skin rinsed, face powdered, arms slathered in creams that smell like strawberries. It's hard not to hate oneself when there's so many steps to remember, when walking out of the house is not as simple as walking out of the house, when one must never forget that the world is watching you. Some think that young, beautiful women don't have problems, but I haven't seen a more troubled demographic. We are constantly picking each other apa...

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...