Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

Happiness is jumping in a pool of pink jellybeans Feeling the cool candy on my skin Happiness is enjoying the pleasures of life Without worrying about confessing my sins Whoever said that we are gluttons For biting juicy pears on the beach Must never have felt the sand in their toes They must have placed their own soul out of reach And what about greed? It's not all that bad To bury a pile of chestnuts for the spring All animals do it, so why shouldn't we? If it's greedy to love yourself, let it be Lust is the one that makes pastors blush Yet it's one of the greatest joys in the body A kiss and a dance, laughter and romance Why did we ever label this happiness as naughty? Have you ever seen a cat sad when it naps? It is okay to sometimes be lazy The body needs rest as does the mind Or the world will set fire from the crazy If happiness is a sin, then let me smile in hell Looking up at the do-gooders above For to live is to err, to cry, and to sing Happiness is pink jell...

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

This is how you should act if you want to be a tease Just drop a pen and twirl around 360 degrees Bite your lip and shoot a glance that will make his heart raw And wear a shirt that reveals just a sliver of your bra Ask a question that you definitely know the answer to Then nod and smile and act as if he's a genius to you Compliment his scent and ask if he likes yours Then yawn and sigh, play hard to get, as if he is a bore When your lips are a shade just right When your dress is almost too tight When your smile is fake and bright When you're sad, alone at night This is when it's time to tease To have the men beg at your knees To have them buy you champagne and flowers So that you're occupied at every hour To disguise your loneliness with a mad, feigned power

I am obsessed with life, and with finding the meaning of it all. This is why I adore poetry and literature. Certain philosophical quotes stick in my psyche and I can fish them out whenever I feel like I am drowning in my uncertainties. It is also why I love music. Certain songs, lyrics, instruments, and even sounds whisk me back to different places, different people and times in my life. Anytime I want to escape the present, I can turn on the stereo. But poetry, philosophy and music are not the meaning of life. It is just an interpretation. In fact, the older I get foggier the meaning of life becomes. When I was little, I had no critical thinking skills. Most kids do not. We swallow up everything we are told by the authorities towering over us (teachers, parents) like candies. The first time I learned about "heaven" was in the fifth grade, in Catholic School. My teacher taught religion class every afternoon, and we discussed what happens when we die: we go to the pearly gat...

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...

At ten at night a fair lady releases her flowing hair And opens her window to let in fresh air Not knowing that a fairy has come in with the breeze Who will describe all that he senses and sees The fairy, hid behind a bucket of salts Watches her as she exposes her faults The chipped red paint on the nail of her toe Revolts the poor fairy, but he refuses to go For she starts to unzip her speckled blue top And her two heaving breasts break out and drop Never a more putrid sight did he see Than nipples the size of mulberry trees She then removes her lashes, her eyebrows, her lips Then, yawning, into her bed she sleepily slips The fairy, wanting to take a closer look at the doll Flutters up to her ear and begins to crawl He travels right into her big, waxy ear And discovers great galaxies there In her head she has worlds so vast and sublime That make him forget the odiousness of her slime She has novels and poetry stored to the roof of her skull Mathematics, biology, a...

The power of perfume  Secrets trapped in cheap glass bottles The air is misty as I enter the room Memories climb through my nose into my heart How weak the soul is! Vulnerable, protected by skin But through the nose, through the mouth, through sad eyes The haunting perfume can get in This perfume, the one with the heart shaped glass Reminds me of the days when I shopped as I skipped class And if I close my eyes just tight enough And if the circumstances are right enough I can sniff the love perfume like a drug That takes me right back to a day when I was a different me Recollecting past memories of ourselves We refer to ourselves in third person That girl, that one who wore this perfume with the long blonde hair flowing down her back Is not the girl I see today, with a hairdo that I would never have the courage to flaunt Back when I drowned myself in the love perfume Like a blooming, honey scented flower Waiting for worker bees to devour me Stop it, old perfu...

            Although you were the nicest, most beautiful woman I ever met, you were simply too good to be true. This is the last you will ever hear from me. I loved you.             R.T.             Stella found this note on her bedside table, tucked beneath a candle and a mangled copy of the New Testament. She read it over and over again, as she prepared her morning coffee and let her dog out into the backyard. She sat on her sofa and continued to stare at the note, hoping that it would make sense the more she tried to decipher it. Was there a hidden code? Was it a metaphorical verse? Stella was most hurt by the constant use of past tense in the short paragraph (I loved you) with the –d so undisguised, so brash, and so horrid, she was almost afraid to read it as “loved” instead of “love.” Richard still loved her, or so...

It is hard for me to believe that twenty years have passed. Two whole decades. A new generation of kids have entered elementary school. Kids who don't have a clue about Gwen Stefani, Walkmans, or the joys of MSN Messenger. I feel old and yet so ridiculously young at the same time. Twenty is a difficult age: I'm old enough to potentially drink myself to sleep every night, but I'm still too young to be taken seriously in the workforce. Therefore, for me, twenty is all about self-discipline. Having the option to do something doesn't mean you should do it. So I'll stay in school, spending countless hours slaving over essays which will be bell curved anyway, in order to get a piece of paper that may or may not give me a head start in "the real world" (twenty year olds don't really live in the real world, you see). For now, reality as a twenty year old can be summarized in a few simple bullet points: Frozen pizza  Debating between going to class or goin...

Over the years, I have met many people. I have also known many others. Then there are are the few who I had befriended, and for some period of my life they were my role models, companions, and temporary acquaintances with whom I identified with. And the more people I got to know, the more I started to realize how much we are all alike. I'm not sure whether this revelation is a result of my slow progress into emotional maturity, or perhaps it is a fleeting thought. But it dawned upon me how truly messed up we all are. As a hopeless romantic and a stingy perfectionist, I have sailed through life, thus far, searching for a seedling of sanity in this raging sea of lunatics. Alas, the water would never settle. Little did I know that the water was calm all along, and the unforgiving sea was just my own reflection. I can say, without exaggerating, that I have much fewer friends now than ever before. I have become the person that I had loathed as a whiny teen- I am the person who ins...

That is the problem with the young and educated of today. They talk a lot and they claim to know a lot but really they know nothing at all.  We can talk all day about the bright futures we have ahead of us, the futures generously donated to us by our parents, who have loved us and provided for us since we were babies.  Yet inside we are the same feeble, irrational creatures as we were in the womb.  We think we can get away with anything by choking up a little tear in the eye, by refusing to pick up our toys and toils after we’re done with them, by saving money for an Irish cream coffee instead of putting it aside to pay back for the debt of our selfishness.  We are babies, wrapped in the disguise of immaculate men and women.  We are babies, with translucent skin and a hunger for the primitive needs, of leisure and pleasure and enough vodka to fill an aquarium.  We are more childish than we were at thirteen, for w...

I recently stumbled upon an advertisement featuring a young woman with her eyes covered by a Kraft Dinner box. She is licking her lips, and the caption reads "a guilty pleasure." Beside this slogan is a box of macaroni and cheese. For some reason this advertisement shocked and offended me. It took me a while to decipher the root of my angst. I finally got it: it gets me mad that the term "guilty pleasure" even exists, because you should never feel guilty for being happy (unless you get happy from twisted and possibly illegal things, in which case you should seek help). My only conclusion from this strange commercial is that we live in a society in which it is deemed normal, and even necessary, to feel guilty for doing anything that is remotely pleasurable. This is most obvious in food and diet advertising. Their message is that you should eat lots of cheap junk food, feel guilty and remorseful for doing so, and then sweat out your tears at an expensive gym, t...