Bean

Bean,

I miss you.

Come back to our pod,

and be my bean again.

now.

Thank you.

Nothing unique, just special.

Riots,

yeah yeah, sure.

You'd like to start a million riots.

But I know you won't.

You fight your battles in hammocks,

sipping away at impurities,

choking on factual liquid.

You can hardly stomach your reflection

so what makes you different from any other

princess begging for approval

from the man within the mirror?

You love to be original,

extra crispy with flare and the right purse.

But you walk alone,

don't you notice?

And your hair,

so volumized, filled with air,

and it's ironic.

but you'll never understand why.

When you speak to me,

you address me as everyone else.

yes, you have called me "everybody else"

While I sat at the edge of my desk

holding both middle fingers to your "free thinking."

sit down,

you've been caged.

But you love to start riots,

all pretty in yellow,

shoes to match.

You love to be anything.

If the colors match.

Must I

You must see me,

like a million colorful balloons,

Like the ones I was holding on my tiptoes,

as I measured the direction of the wind

with a wet finger straight in the air.

You laughed when I told you,

I planned on flying away with those colorful balloons.

You told me,

I was too heavy,

full of organs and spite.

I recognize your need to destroy,

and you must embrace the child within yourself.

So here's this needle,

I swear it will rain color

I won't flinch once.

If it means you being free,

after years of confinement,

Then, by all means,

destroy this.

But before we do,

hold this balloon,

see its color?

see the way the sun shines through it?

Like a crystal sound wave,

beating your brain with a million beautiful ideas,

a million butterflies erupt within your brain.

If you're still not convinced,

close your eyes on this ledge,

spread your arms,

embrace the air,

and the rock in the arch of your foot.

Now, tell me that being free,

does not sound like complete bliss.

I am an ugly organ,

plink away at my face,

and after a while

I'll sound how you want.

It never made sense to mozart

when the piano began to play itself,

and it won't make a shred of sense to you either.

I am small,

not in size,

just in the scheme of things,

I won't matter in a month,

I WILL be the bird you see once,

smile at,

and forget all at once.

I am a violin,

long necked,

wide hipped,

and easily abused.

You can hold me

to your chest,

and play me like a guitar.

I am a seashell,

awkward, spikey, sharp as hell.

And if you hold me to your ear,

I'll bring peace to your aching bones.

I am an ugly organ,

anything you'd like.

Never goodbye

I love you,

you have to know this.

I can see you in every mirror

an overglaze of myself,

reflected straight through,

and there standing completely still is you.

I think this is why I can still say I have some self worth.

Because, though,

you've never asked to be inside of me,

you certainly are.

Happy reflections of a beautiful budding romance,

like a novel set on fire,

like a novel watered with trust,

like a sheep shaved down to bare skin,

standing there, naked,

"Bah'ing" at passer byes.

Shivering in the wind,

yes, we can still feel.

You've held me, delicately,

like a dripping candle,

you rotate my waxy skin,

and breathe into me to keep me aflame.

I love you,

you have to know this,

before I run,

(never from you)

but from what I've known to be mine.

A streak of terrible luck,

morning headaches,

and worried brows.

I can see the man my mother once called father,

dying now.

I can see the woman I call mother

wilting now,

ever faster,

even faster than you've seen a fresh cut daffodil

fold and retreat to doom.

She was beautiful,

pale, and blonde.

She wore scarfs in her hair,

lace on her wrists,

and bore her feet into the ever-certain ground.

she was free,

free like the pictures I've seen this moment captured in.

free before she had my brother,

free before she cradled my large body,

free before I even-still lye in her bed and cry.

She would lay in the Mexico sun,

drinking from coconuts,

gazing into the eyes of the man on the moon,

and my god, she was beautiful.

I run now,

Because I recognize that the eyes I see in myself now,

are laced with the terror,

pain, and grief.

That she never knew until

men had run through the streets of her soul,

selling her value,

selling her skin,

for one cheap touch.

And though her nest is slowly starting to rot and decay,

She prunes herself,

plucks her own feathers,

unready to budge

out of her breast,

and fills my room

with love.

I run now,

because

I see the lust for the sunshine,

the ocean breeze against her beautiful skin.

I run now,

to let her live.

But I could have loved you,

I should,

but I run.

Lovely pyramids

You'll never get what you deserve,

no.

You can tell me,

in dark, misty tones

that you've always felt my pain.

But you've never known.

You never could.

And though parts of me,

red with fury,

shaking with scorn,

want you to feel the hot needle

of losing love,

I know I could never

ever be responsible for damning you

Be the one to cast you into a firey circle,

one of the seven circles,

I've come to know too well.

Of course,

she is lovely,

glowing in summers drip.

But fall will bring uncertainties to surface,

blemishes will appear,

and I cannot wait to hear you

when winter is here.

Lift

An unspeakable pain consumes me every now and then.

I close my lips, like a calm hush.

And some nights I embrace it,

like a sore lover.

I can hear my dreams out loud,

and with my eyes closed,

I can see a pretty picture,

I can paint a pretty damning picture of myself,

and where I'd like to be.

Don't speak, because I know, now,

you're scared of me,

scared of all this monster in me,

but there's nothing wrong-

I swear,

I can go on living like this for miles on,

and the only time I'll ever appear restless,

are the moments I should be most at ease.

I can open my mind to you,

open it, and cake it with the dust that seems to make you whole.

You frown at me,

And I'm sorry I bring you down,

I'm sorry I'll never be the same,

and I'm sorry,

trust me, I'm so sorry that I've made it.

I appreciate all the chances I've been given,

all the times I've turned my back on death.

There must be something about me,

that turns the world on,

enough to keep me here,

enough to assume I belong.

In the winter,

That's when I get it,

chilled, and always in my bones.

it grows cold,

I grow weary of shivering, even by the fire.

I keep telling myself,

you've made it, you've made it.

As you feed me hot soup,

hot teas from places you've never been.

I'll wait til the lights are out,

Until I can hear you lightly snore.

and sleeplessly I'll crawl

to the hallow shackles in midnight corners,

and hum tunes that showcase once,

are applauded by the wind,

and are soon forgotten.

In the ends and outs of night,

I will never sleep soundly,

I know what it is to sin,

and I know what it is to repent.

But forgetting sounds so much better.

And at night, your thoughts are forgotten,

lost in mid air, lost in travel.

But they go somewhere,

and that somewhere is where I dwell.

I have laid in the beds,

I have shouted from buildings,

and I have cradled life in my bare hands.

But I have also soared above myself,

I have seen the way rain hit my shell.

I could tell you chilling stories

about becoming me again,

the rough landing,

the screams I heard, but never understood.

So rest now,

I'm here,

I'm so sorry,

not for you,

but for the most selfish me, you'll ever meet.

Because nothing has ever satisfied me as much as dying has.

But nothing will ever satisfy me as much as dying has.

A million little pieces.

Meeting someone you love

the second you hear them say your name

is a million to one:

Picture me,

standing alone,

quietly fantasizing about soft moments,

Holding onto my own hand,

because in the winter,

I just can never seem to get warm.

Maybe I was never thinking about him

all those nights in Ohio,

I'd drift to sleep,

clutching the seams of my skin,

praying that I'd come undone.

Praying that in the morning,

I would have forgotten the life I knew,

and needed desperately to forget.

Maybe I never even loved him.

Maybe all the times I'd write him,

my pleas were falling upon deaf ears.

Maybe I didn't care if it was him holding me,

maybe in the scariest times,

I never wanted him at all.

Maybe I just wanted to be warm.

Maybe the animal in me,

never wanted to be a million to one.

Joy

You don't need me anymore.

The fire within every song I slur

tells me so.

I don't need you anymore,

and the joy I feel

when I burn everything you've ever given me

is

indescribable.

the way he loves me already,

trumps any middle time love we ever made.

and he and I, still have yet to touch.

My right hand,

is the man,

he could never be.

let this be free

There is no pace to love,

it is harsh, it is cold, its the wind,

whipping my naked back,

I can still feel the red wounds

filtering out the pain,

to leave me with minor satisfaction.

Leaving me, worried that I may end up craving more.

He didn't believe in God,

and I think that's what kept our love so intimate.

He never compared me to the grace of a higher anything.

We'd stay cradled in my room,

never questioning why we were put here,

always knowing that

we just were.

He never sighed during dull moments,

he only searched for a way out.

I never blamed him for leaving me,

I always knew he would.

Like the mornings he'd leave for work,

trying not to wake me,

he'd break the binds our legs had created

entangled in one.

I'd feel his skin lightly graze over my own,

due to lack of sheets,

due to lack of blankets,

I would shiver at the presumption

that maybe he wasn't planning on leaving at all,

maybe he was going to stay and keep me warm.

Maybe, we'd forget our civic duties,

our moral obligations,

and just live.

But in swift movements,

stealthy, and holy,

he'd spring to his feet,

kiss my eyelids,

and although I protested,

he would always leave.

I should have known then,

nothing gold, ever stays.

I should have known, I was the ripple

I was the ripple that would destroy the calm lull in his springs.

And he hurts me,

so much that I can hardly breathe,

So much that I forgot what it means

to be whole.

He hurt me,

called to me,

and destroyed my name

until I could no longer feel the joys,

of standing naked in a hallway.

Let this be free,

rid of me,

let love,

be rid of me.

Spun

Tell me everything you want to forget about.

I'll make it a habit

to forget about your old habits.

And in the end,

we'll come full circle,

and remain square with one another.

She was a staircase,

leading you into the wrong hallway,

causing you to weep

into the lonely oriental rug.

You fell in love with the spider in her,

We all noticed in the morning,

when your hands were silky wet with her home.

We remained silent,

hands tucked in our blankets,

while you recalled

the way her eight legs

embalmed you,

pulling your heart through your belly button,

and your brain, through your nose.

And in your organs travels,

they noticed one thing,

they liked it best

where they first belonged.

Poor you,

a minor flea

in the circus of bumble bees,

and sugary pine blossoms,

you get lost in the pride of a spider-

in the pride and prejudice of being in love.

I felt for you,

the night you slept on my doorstep,

crying on the knees

you had denied

crying on your knees,

which you so previously ignored.

I searched you, in your sleep.

Looking for some trace of where she'd gone,

and as much as you had promised me

she had gone.

I found a web in your pocket,

and a hole in your heart.

I chuckled as I scraped the web from my own hand,

and woke you,

just to remind you,

you don't need eight legs to stand.

Skeleton Plea

How dare you smile at me,

I am punished by the craters

all in line,

like hungry, white ants.

They eat away at my eyes.

Like a picnic of bread-

I am devoured within seconds.

You touched my hand,

and released it all the way,

shivers struck my core.

I never did breathe that night, did I?

can you remember the way

the curve of my lips

embark and claimed the center of yours?

Like seagulls,

in love at sea,

we'd glide.

I never did breathe when I was with you.

Dear readers,

I've never taken a second to explain any of this blog to anyone. I know there are 6 of you following me, and while 6 seems like a small number, I know there are at least 20 more than read this religiously. I want to take this time now to thank all of you for reading any of this. What you've been reading is an insight to the person I truly am. Too often have I been characterized by my bubbly sense of humor, which is usually confused for stupidity. I come here to release and reach for the ugliest parts of me, to have six seconds of honesty, sometimes even hours of honesty. It's like a mirror that isolates every flaw, you get to pin point parts about yourself that you never would have noticed any other time.

Let me take a second here to say-

I am not stupid.

I take great pride in being an intelligent woman, and although I fuck up every once in a while...

I fuck up correctly.

And isn't that a wonderful thing to know about me? Don't you love knowing that you're not wasting your time reading stupid rants about terrible moments, connected between run-ons and rude sass.

This post will NOT be about me floating my own boat or any of that shit. This is simply me taking the time to explain myself, and what you've been reading the past year of your life.

I will be the first person to say, I am not a perfect writer, but I am absolutely above average when it comes to describing ugly things.

I am a fan of making ugly moments seem sexy,

seem-

beautiful, heart-wrenching, illuminating, relatable.

because I am literally, everyone.

I am your dead beat father,

I am the boy that broke your heart,

I am the girl that stole your favorite sweater.

I am absolutely every war you've ever fought, whether it be global or internal.

Only difference is, I am honest about it.

I am honest about why I broke your heart,

Why I don't pay the bills,

why I pick fights for no reason.

This is why you read this.

I'd be lying if I said I was at all normal, but that's the beauty of it all.

Am I right?

The last few years of my life has been jam packed full of disgusting moments, moments when the people I loved the most took everything from me, and left me feeling... well, Like shit.

But the point of all this, this blog, is to remind myself that no matter how mean spirited, hateful, spiteful, beautiful, rude, sexual, or happy my poetry can be, in the end it always turns out to be a positive thing to look back on.

I can sit down and say "Look how far I've come."

I have cried, laughed and grinded allllll uppp on this laptop several times just to get to where I am.

(yes, grinded all up on...)

The point is,

what you are reading, is 100% real,

it's honest as I'll ever be.

and I guess what I'm trying to say is, the fact that even a handful of people still like me after reading any of these poems has really been a beautiful thing.

I create faith every time you understand what I mean,

and you create faith every time you understand what I say.

Not a faith in anything religious,

but a faith in mankind, and the closed roads we've paved when it comes to expression via words.

Keep reading,

It keeps me sane.

-Olivia

Incense

There is a part of this ceiling

charred by the hope

that maybe,

(just maybe)

something can erase the smell

of self medicating, and the self loathing.

of me.

She's a-

Maniac,

Maniac

on the floor.

forever more,

forever more.

I hear the crow saying,

forever more.