4 days ago


This old dying system;
the scene of this world is changing.
There are many new and old chances to die (so many).
And in this car, in the snow,
slipping and sliding around,
death is unavoidable and attainable.
Each bump, pull and tug that this car doesn’t scare
me to be in this leather seat;
doesn’t scare me as much as the tan suede
stained with tears and blood (death).


I drew a woman, a bare woman.
I was embarrassed by her looks and her body shape.
So, I grabbed my pen and scribbled over her flaws and imperfections.
Scribbled away who she was and used to be.
I felt sad for her.
Sad to take away the life she had and would have had.
As I scribble away each and every line of her former form,
I take away her freedom to move; clot her blood and suppress her lungs.
Stop her heart and shut her eyes;
I scribble in her face with the blackest of ink,
scribbling away her individuality, her person.
She’s just another failed attempt.


I’m not going to cry
because I can’t get what I want.
I wish this system would give me a break.
I just want it my way sometimes.
And I want to party like it’s my birthday
but that’s just a metaphor for wanting to be independent
because I don’t celebrate birthdays.
In these last rides, I’m still light-headed and vertigo dawns upon me.
I don’t know how some people get over you and I want somebody
to blame besides myself and I don’t want to use the excuse of being imperfect.
Why am I always doing too much? Why did I ruin the streak?
I want to be in the midst and feel the mist of holiness spray over me.
I’m going to cross the line again and it started off with a bang and it’s ending
with a flat line. Almost like you’re reading two different poems
and seeing two different sides of me.


To become a spiritual young woman,
I must present my body as a sacrifice;
in the holiest of ways and in the purest
(divinity in its finest).
Be transformed and make your mind like you make your bed.
The miserable woman I am. Who can rescue me from this precocious body undergoing this death?
I realize that to have a relapse in my defiling habits does not lessen my persona.
My strength won’t wane; His creature of habit.


And I’ve been thinking about my death a lot.
And, recently, it’s easily accessible and its inevitability is proof,
and the search for my soul is hardest to find.
It’s scary at how easy I’m able to kiss Death’s sweet lips
and feel it’s soothing touch.
The wine sits on the table, red and luxurious,
begging to be drunken.


Left alone in the church pew and left with a bible
and a cross and rosaries and a repeated prayer
that wasn’t a guarantee for safety,
that wasn’t the truth, it was a fabrication and it was
keeping the veil over our eyes.
A spiritual release; the truth and the tastiest fruit that
could gloss our taste buds will be rotting in our mouths.
But in the end is there really something left with these pastors
who swears and cry in the name of God that they’ll feed us the truth?

Find it a body that makes sense, I've felt it.
4 days ago


When escapism turns into avoidance
I become scared.
Shadows lurk and demons cross paths with my angels of my consciousness
and I’m loving the fights they get into.
I’ve broken my mirror and now I’ve found God (and I’m not scared);
he was glaring in disappointment with a sad gleam in his eyes
and he rolled his eyes back into his head to pretend it never happened.
Sunday morning, I’m not at church in the pew as I pray for forgiveness.
The way I feel overcomes it all, this twisted reality bears only lies
and it unleashes demons onto my property that digs holes
and chews at my carpets like an animal.


Useless and a piece of trash,
and I’m so ugly I’ve broken my mirror.
So full of love and so full of fatigue.
My mind skips the classes around me
and today I’m feeling lonely so I take a drag.
I think God hates me, but I’m not sure.
And I can’t wait to see you in a bit, but I don’t care.
When I’m with you I don’t want to be with you but I like you
and I’m not going to stop.


What happened to the God-fearing woman?
To become a spiritual young woman,
I must sacrifice my body in order to be clean.
Scrape the dirt from under my nails,
scrub the nasty from yesterday.
Projectile vomit, weed mixed into the vegetables,
fingers in the butter, mind in the gutter, pass the rolls.
Pay Caesar’s things to Caesar and God’s things to God.

The title is taken from E.E Cummings poem "Since Feeling is First".

2 Corinthians 9:8 "And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work."

In the gleam
of the morning sunrise
i saw the blooming
of the seed of faith;
strength to live
another day,
peace to let go
of yesterday,
for the journey ahead.

I am blessed
going in and going out;
wherever I go
I carry the beauty-mark of success
eternal happiness
because I believe
I am blessed
because you love me
I am alive
because you touched me

And eventhough
it may not be an easy road
i recognize
that you are here with me,
there to guide my eyes to see,
hold my hand and lead me
through treacherous trail of every trial
until I get to promised land
of milk and honey.

I am blessed

This was custom poem I did for one of my twitter followers. Currently I am raising money to study abroad in China or Africa. In honor of my academic achievement during graduate study I have been nominated to participate in the Laureate International Scholar Program, a program in which you study international relations and diplomacy in either China or Africa. I have started a gofundme page to raise the money I need to go and as a thank you for any donation I am offering to write custom poems. If you are interested and would like to know more information about the program and trip I will leave the link to my gofundme page below! If you decide to donate make sure to comment with your email address and the subject of the poem you would like and I will email you one. I appreciate any help! Thanks in advance!! Also if you could share the link on your social media outlets that would be of great help as well.

He smiled as he looked up the hill at me.
I was asked if I knew the friend in the sky.
I said nothing. I was frozen in unknowing.
I was frozen in unknowing.
I was nihilism in this moment.

He smiled as he looked up to the sky.
The friend was asked if he knew me.
The sky said nothing.
The friend was frozen in omnipotence.
The friend was frozen in omnipotence.

I was warm with the notion.
I was warm with the knowing.
The friend was there.
The man he smiled at me, and I knew in his certainty the truth was as such.

His friend was there.
/My/ friend was there.

I waiting forever for Godot.
Only to realize the sky was in my heart.
The friend was I.
I was the sky.
The Friend, I and He and All, was inside and above.
It was within.
It was without.

Allah made my spirit porous.
Hashem made my spirit white light.
Jesus made my spirit gracious.
Buddha made my spirit still.
Shiva made my spirit real.
I made my spirit sing.

I smiled as I looked up the hill at him.

What if I were to tell you,
that your soul dances in delight
every time your heart aches

                                Would you think her evil?

                                Would you conspire against her?

And what if I were to tell you
that the soul knows,
the knowledge of experience
          Are the fruits of its labor
That the wisdom
          hidden in pain,
          Are what it's after

And what if I were to tell you,
that without these,
                             You starve her,
                             Deny her,
                             Un-express her

Would you understand her now?
Would you give her the life she craves?
Would you continue to deny her existence
                                             ...and ultimately,


i feel like someone else
i cant remember, though
these bones paint a picture
that i know i've seen before

i can see, curiously
all the fallen leaves beneath my feet say,
"hey, i've got a real big thing to show you"

i'm lookin through the trees
and they're talkin back to me
they're sayin things that show me how it needs to be
and i'm lookin into me
and i see things i dont quite understand
but i'll be damned, if i dont dig deeper

this looks like somewhere else
it seems so familiar, oh
and with the breath of a dragon
when the wheel of a wagon
gets a turnin dontcha know the world just keeps goin' round

i'm lookin through the trees
and they're talkin back to me
they show me why to question, who i seem to be
and i'm falling into me
and feeling things i cant quite comprehend
but in the end, it'll all come back to me

this is about the first time i took mushrooms

Swore to god that i was blessed
threw it all away my mind my devils do infest
Contest ;
or find that you are swallowed most entirely
Had no sleep to lose a victim of intense sobriety...

The story never ends
the cycle must continue with or without closest friends
Pretend ;
that the world around me isn't dieing
Extend my arms and legs as iv been huddled up and hiding

Disease ;
the only homies left were grass and trees
He told em all his problems all while sobbin on his knees
impede ;
Although its hard when demons come in numbers
aiming accurate immaculate to put you under

Repressed ;
i swore to fuckin god that i was blessed
Scared away my demons all while screamin from my chest
a mess ;
Normally i walked the path of light
but found a shady tree and rested eyes for several nights..

Contemptuous of Status
Please call me "Scum".
My only aspiration in life
Is to have an infinite number of ideas.
Please feel free to think of yourself as Superior to me.

Ola Radka
Ola Radka
Jan 31

Thunders dance in my veins.
Energy nourishes my body.
Every day
I wake up

Some say Madness is Good for the Soul
Just as psychiatric decompensation
Can benefit individuals in the Long Run,
Sometimes,nations need to go
Completely beserk!

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