Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

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.

Looking in from the outside, they're smoking and drinking wine On the patio, and they look so conspicuously happy, that I know They are not happy at all. The man has a cigar protruding from his lips And the lady is wearing a tattered red gown and a frown on her cheek. She buries her crow's feet under a nest of expensive makeup and gloss. And they ask each other, how has your day been? And they each respond, Good, while twirling their empty forks in the air, searching for ghost spaghetti. Oh, why hasn't the food arrived yet? I'm feeling rather sweaty from work. It's been years since the children moved out, so an empty house bears no Promise of passion; and the lady wakes up to the same man every day, And she no longer feels a warm prickle in the corner of her stomach. The blissful lurch of excitement, that feeling you used to get when You were a child and you saw your mother picking you up at the end Of the week from summer camp, and you memo...

Soon, we'll be old and sour and grey, Looking back at today, thinking those were the days, Where dawns and dusks spilled into each other like syrup. At sunrise we slept and at sundown we wept, And all in between we filled our days with nonsense. Soon, we'll forage our memories and become so Overwhelmed with nostalgia that we will have to Caress our stomachs and sit in a chair with armrests, And life will play itself out once more, like a movie, In fragments of memories, sensations, delusions, Of days where we felt so ashamed that we crawled Into ourselves and, like pathetic snails, we waited for life to pass us. Of days where we felt so alive that we risked Our pride and respect in exchange for a glass of beer. Of days where we were so miserably defeated That we cried to rock songs and wondered how it would be To see someone else in the mirror for a change. Little fragments, little things, will flash like fireworks. Then every thing, every dew drop on every ro...

She’s different ‘cause she talks about politics, She’s not one of those cookie cutter chicks. ‘Cause every word that escapes her lips, Is one-of-a-kind; a witty, rare eclipse. When the sun shines upon her hair, It glows so brightly it seems to flare. Sorry to say, she’s just like everyone… Like every other girl roasting under the sun On that very same beach, cookie cutter girls Who all think they’re unique gifts to the world. All you have to do is mix sugar and dough, Then sprinkle some differences and then you’ll know Being a big girl, an adult, you see, Is not when you realize you’re bound to be free. No, growing up is knowing that you’re like everyone else, ‘Cause everyone struggles, succumbs to impulse, Everyone cares about themselves and nobody else.

Born into a world that is ruled by the few An oligarchy disguised as a democracy (We're accustomed to believing it is not so Because we are cattle, and "the man" Can slice our necks open at any time) I'll never be a man, for it is God's will I'll have the "wo-" stuck in front of it Like an uninvited guest that refuses to leave Even when the dessert dishes are put away I'll forever be destined to be wo-man A syntactical slip, that we are hu-man When we were small we were equal Until that day in the change room In the sixth grade, when Sadie began To make fun of you for having fat legs Then, like a lollipop version of Eve, We looked down at ourselves and realized That we were wo-men and our bodies became Something that needed to be kept secret Chastity belts digging into our bellies The sunburnt truckers with leering stares The frightening reminders: never walk Home alone at night and bring hair spray De...

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 ...

When the snake slithers under my door, let him do it Let him test how much I can take, take my heart and chew it When the clock ticks and time gets too thick to erase Let him steal all my time away and call it the chase When my self esteem withers away, help me do it Assist me as I take the world in my hands and say screw it When the snake poisons my vein, let him do it It's just a small sacrifice for the pain, no more to it Injected with this liquid that makes me another me Rejected by this twisted ghost and I become my enemy Long ago, I thought I was stronger But I can't take the grief any longer Passion or cocaine, same drug different name I am the only person to blame for the pain So when the snake slithers into my chest, let him do it Let him cut out my weak heart and chew it, Nothing more to it.