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.