Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I miss the days When I was impressed By nail polish from the dollar store And a double dutch date to the cinema When there was nowhere to go Nothing to do, in particular Except take bus route blue Get off at random stops And explore the dullness of suburbia Because everything was exciting and new Everything shiny, borrowed and blue Even on a road to nowhere En slow route to a somewhere That existed only in a sad fantasy We said, we would never bend To the wills of 'the man' We said we would eat coconuts All day under palm trees We would be different We would be famous Even though all we had Was some allowance in our pockets And a failed driver's test score But oh was it romantic To hop on a bus to nowhere With the rain pattering on the windows Or is it just miguided nostalgia? Because I am so glad that, now I am able to drive somewhere Anywhere Everywhere Home

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...

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...

Remember when life was a dream Sweet as cookies and cream Sticky summer days lasted forever I remember your hand in mine A puppy love so divine We could travel wherever Remember video games on the couch Adults telling us not to slouch Each day happier than the last Listening to our iPods We would live forever like gods We didn't feel as each year passed Now every day is the same Be it sunshine or rain Eyes aching from the screen Oh to go back to those days When nights were a haze And we all ate cookies and cream

--> Puerto Vallarta, 2018 --> All I want is simple perfection A clean-cut slice without defection A day so smooth that I ride its waves A day when my loud brain behaves All I want is relaxation Without the threat of dark temptation Of a friend, or food, or phone Just the peace of being alone All I want is a rendez-vous A sunset and just me and you I want to jar all the times Where my love was at its prime To capture them like fireflies To see the jolly in my eyes I just want endless vacation No matter where the destination

The tinsel on the tree Chocolate in the bowl Santa on the mantle Streets engulfed in snow This Christmas is a special One; I look back on a year Filled with bliss and chaos And pockets of despair I wrap my woe in tinsel Eat candy to sweeten My heart; look at the Snow out the window To drown in bitter cold I always thought I was Made of ice, and that Doom was at my door For who could love a frigid woman, who could Melt a polar soul? This Christmas is a special One; this Christmas I'm not cold This year I'm fuelled by Sparks flaming in my Chest; I'm heated by My will to move on To embrace the year ahead

Hold the stress in the palm of the hand, crush it, and watch it sprinkle to the ground, so fine and pink it looks like it could be crusted on cupcakes. Send the thought "I'm not good enough" into a wooden crate and place it in a freight ship bursting with cargo. Watch the ship slowly drift away, into the ocean, across endless blue. When the throat and face get hot with envy and rage, cool them with a sip of cold chocolate kisses, melting down the throat, coating the mouth in sugary goo, preventing a regretful word from being said. When sadness triggers the eyes, let them be, let the tears flow down the cheeks and dribble from the chin. Let the tears dry on the soft skin and leave a trace of conspicuous emotion, as if the face were bathed in salt water. Grab the fear from the crevices of the diaphragm and exhale it all. Like bad smoke, it only rots the lungs, for fear has no place in the body. Feel it burn a little as it rolls out the nostril, and floats away with the ...

I thought I was a rose, full bloom But I'm a budding cherry blossom So many days and dusks ahead So many raindrops to consume Until my petals drop It is a seasonal beauty A spectacle, in awe My whole life is but a season Of infinite springtimes on this earth Look at the cherry blossoms They taunt you with their delicate pink skin You want to grasp it, want to own it But they flutter in the wind So few days and dusks ahead So few raindrops to consume So few times to look to the sky And marvel at the moon Perhaps we have fifty more springtimes to see Fifty more cherry blossoms Fifty more times to eat birthday cake Fifty more times 'til we go with the blossoms The earth is infinite, but we are finite Love is immortal, but we are mortal The cherry blossoms will still stand Even when we're not budding anymore

I Snowflakes Falling on tongue Like they did when I threw Snowballs at boys during recess Freedom II Her smile When I come home How was your day today? Kitchen smells like butternut soup Safety III Prancing In the backyard Catching red butterflies Then watching them flutter away Gently IV Fire Camp songs and s'mores Ashy smell on sweater Crickets chirp and coyotes howl In awe V Berry Patches outstretched Sun on back as I bend Strawberries staining my soft hands Yummy VI Kisses Smooth as chocolate The glee of being loved As we waltz by the candlelight Relax VII Bubbles In the warm tub The smell of apricots Sticking close to my heated skin Cleansing VIII River Rushing quickly Through the winding forest How safe it is to be on shore Watching IX Night time No mascara Just me and my inner Thoughts, memories, wisdom, and soul True self X Beauty All the senses Tingle when I breathe in Earth is in equilibrium Perfect

"Most of us, even if only for two minutes in our lives, have experienced at some time or another an inexplicable and random sense of bliss, unrelated to anything that was happening in the outside world..." (Elizabeth Gilbert) That moment of bliss happens from time to time It happened to me today when I was walking through the forest Fully feeling everything with my five senses Feeling the gravel and crunch of dead brown leaves beneath my boots Hearing the creaky moans of the old trees in the wind Seeing hues of fire, gold, and bronze Smelling the morbidly sweet smell of decay Tasting the moist air on this October day If October were a person, she would be beautiful But not beautiful in the mortal, conventional sense She would have chestnut brown hair, ragged Tangled with twigs and birch bark Her face would be hollow, delicate, like petals in the fall Her dress would be tattered, drooping at her shoulder Moths, caterpillars, and spiders caught in the fibers o...

I am so tired of seeing the same person in the mirror every day Roof over my head? Check. Water and food? Check. Family? Check. Healthy? Check. Stable boyfriend? Check. Check. Check. Check. Why does it not seem like enough... It is because I am an angsty twenty-something See, we were raised during an interesting time when flip phones were a luxury in the eighth grade And MSN Messenger was the way to communicate Now, do people even communicate? There was a time when jobs were a tad easier to find Now we sit in a lukewarm pool of our depression and sulk over the youth unemployment rate We believe in nothing, no god to save us, no future for the earth's creatures and plants We just wait for the sun to devour our planet and for the oceans to flood all the major cities like it does in the movies, a modern day tale of Noah We are pessimists, us twenty-somethings What do we believe in? We don't believe in love Love is oppression! Love does not comply with our overly...

There is something special about coffee shops. The ambience. The grainy smell. The chatter of young lovers and old friends in the background. The stability of it all. The simplicity. Most breakups take place at coffee shops (true fact). The sun blaring down, scalding coffee at my lips, trying to gulp it down to get the conversation over with quickly. Secrets murmured. Coffee cup left half empty (or half full, if you will). Reunions occur at coffee shops. Gift exchanges. Christmas time. New seasonal special: white candy cane mocha with gingerbread biscotti. The smell of creme brulee wafting through the air. Cheap tinsel on the walls. Hungover morning after New Year's Eve: a stop by the coffee shop, a large cup of roasted heaven. Injected like a drug, warming every vein in the body. Then there are days spent alone at the coffee shop. Bent over a stack of textbooks. Fifth coffee of the night, and not the last. First dates at the coffee shop. A mixed sense of hope, and despair in the p...

What do you do when everything you have been working for For let's say, the good past eight years Goes up, up, up To reach a climax The tip of the rollercoaster The momentum The adrenaline That goes down, down, down and around In grooves and loops and exciting angles What happens when that climax Never comes? And you're left there, facing upwards, in a halt Simply trying to not fall back down to where you came from See, I've tried, I've really tried I've prayed, and I've bled and I've cried I thought I got better in all I did I improved my writing I improved my relationship building Busted my bad habit forming Achieved all the grades I wanted to Made friends, lost friends, travelled around Wrote a mammoth 40-page senior goddamn thesis Then I applied to my master's program and I got Waitlisted And the uphill battle came to a stop A deafening screech of the wheels Silence What now? Panic Well, I thought I was smart enough, pret...

Here is a thing that you may not know about me. I hate my face. And not in a casual sort of way that is modest and attention-seeking. The self-hate for my face is real. Amid all my insecurities, from some of my unpleasant personality traits to my guilt of not working out enough (whoops!), my face, unfortunately (and quite shallowly) takes first place. Perhaps writing down this insecurity, taming it, and confining it to a series of paragraphs will help me see how senseless it is to fret so much about something, that, frankly, is irrelevant to my worth as a person, and how my obsessive insecurity might, ironically, make me a more irritable and spiteful person instead. Ever since the age of twelve, I have had acne. You know, the usual teenager "T-zone" acne on the forehead, cheeks, chin, and occasional nose and neck. Except maybe a tad worse than the "usual." That means, for the past nine years of my life, I have woken up every single day being self-conscious. I don...

We are disconnected stars; artificial constellations A mind set, a fluke, a trick of the imagination We are lines connecting but never intersecting We do what's expected but are never expecting We are tied to each other one day, severed the next We are mere pawns, but think we are blessed Fingers in each other's palms, we are whole Eyes connected, we make love soul to soul A warm word, a kind slip of the tongue A kiss, a relief, a reminder that we are still young But the moment we part, an ocean divides us And a mystical force in the universe guides us The moment that our lines disconnect The moment that our souls don't reflect Is the moment we flee from each other, and fast Lightyears apart, we say the past is the past All the faces I've seen, touched, caressed All the hearts that I've cried to, lied to and undressed All the stars that I've met that produced something new A beautiful constellation in the sky, a dark blue All the friendshi...

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

Every breath of gentle air I inhale is in memory of you Each beat of my pounding heart is in thought of you Just know that everything I do I do it all for you... But the days are getting shorter and the air is getting thick My pulse is glacial and my heart is raw and sick I thought the bluebells grinned at me, but my eyes were playing tricks I presumed they would charm me, but my soul tore from falling bricks Here I go again, but I swear this is the last time I'd be guilty if crushing my own spirits were a crime The glass is half empty and the margarita's half full All colours of the rainbow fading to grey and dull There's no where else to go but higher up from here The past is but a statement now; the past can disappear So here I am, as I always was, as I will remain This is me, a humble soul, with only myself to blame