Olivia Ventura

Olivia Ventura Feb 2019

Say goodnight to me
Say it softly
Before you drift away
Before you walk across the ocean
Or sail across the dunes
Or go wherever you go
When you travel through thoughts
When your eyes are closed
If you could dream aloud
If you would allow me
And I could know you all the more
And have the chance to be adored
But you’ve left without saying goodnight
But you’ve gone without telling me, softly
That you would walk across the ocean
That you would sail across the dunes
For me
For us
Yet you haven’t done so
Yet I’m still left wondering
What you think about
What you dream

Olivia Ventura Jan 2019

Haven't Seen Her

A voice cuts the quiet with a butter knife
And spreads it across hollow space
A voice that carries passion and remorse
And yet it travels without a face

She sings through her teeth and I can hear her smiling
She sings with lust and charismatic aim
She opens her lungs for a crawlspace
Where I will sit in shame

I can feel her breathy words
pulsating in my neck
I can feel her venom in my vein
But I accept its effect

In her song, I search for her
Though I know her all too well
We've known each other for years and yet
Only I am under her spell

So hear my voice through your soft soprano
And drink your cherry wine
I'll compliment you with my tenor
And harmonize your story with mine

Olivia Ventura Jan 2019

Suspended

She walks across an icy lake
smoldering embers stuck to her feet
Ice turns to vapor as she stumbles along
Her vision conquered by a white cloud

Slowly and easily she starts
She speeds her pacing step by step
She starts to slip instead of step
She is caught unaware when she falls

The ice below her; thin and dry
It contains a river of rage and regret
She breaks the seal between water and life
The freeze of winter consumes her

Creatures of the depth approach her
Her face contorts her body is paralyzed
She does not scream she does not kick
She is simply suspended in surrender

And in the end, she was never on a river.
And she never fell through any ice.
She chooses not to see those who can help her.
She chooses to remain suspended in surrender.

Olivia Ventura Jan 2019

Mother

She is sitting in a room with white curtains,
watching them fill an empty room with empty space.

She writes to a God that doesn't answer,
Because she doesn't use the right address.

She seals her tears in a paper envelope,
and hands them to a man who will never deliver them.

She twirls her hair around her little finger,
watching the sun fade again and again.

She is ***** by men with whiskey tongues,
and she clings to them for comfort.

She is staining her sheets with the blood from her head,
and she never washes it away.

Olivia Ventura Jan 2019

The dreaded elbow

My elbow is throbbing.

My elbow is throbbing because I was getting out of bed, and I bonked my elbow on my headboard.

I bonked my elbow on my headboard because, while I was getting out of bed, I stepped on a pile of clothes I had left at the foot of my bed the night before, stumbled, fallen, bonked, and now my elbow is throbbing.

I left the pile of clothes at the foot of my bed because I was too tired and lazy to fold them and put them away, but my grandmother always told me that if I forgot to put my clothes away at the end of the day there would be bad karma, and now I guess the only thing to say is that I got what I deserved after I had stumbled, fallen, and bonked, and now my elbow is throbbing.

I was too tired and lazy to put my clothes away because I had just gotten out of the shower and I was already carrying a towel, my work clothes, and I was shutting the door with foot, so in a way it makes sense that I dropped my clothes at the foot of my bed because I had to change into comfortable sleeping clothes before I could crawl into bed, but in order to so I had to drop the work clothes that were already in my hands so I could grab my comfortable sleeping clothes before letting my towel slip, and once I did that I realized it made me forget about the work clothes I had recently dropped because I was only thinking about sleeping, which eventually lead to my stumble, fall, bonk, and throbbing elbow.

Olivia Ventura Jan 2019

What Hate Means

We lay in different places with the same thought in our eyes.
so I try to say a word- a word we’ll both understand- to mean what we both want it to mean.
Because we’re both afraid to say it out loud.
together we stare deep into one another before he mutters, “what?”
and everything else clears away like a morning fog bids the afternoon farewell.
“I hate you,” I say, and I smile a little.
“I hate you, too,” he replies, with a grimace of dirt.
“good, then- we’re both on the same page.”
“good.”
and we laid there, together. For years.

But then, when I looked back to where he used to be, he was gone.
And I can only guess that he hated me too much.

Please read each line slowly, as if you were reading the dialogue of a book or listening to someone speak:)

Olivia Ventura Jan 2019

The Welt

His innocence stung me; like a bee on the first day of spring.
I couldn't get the stinger out of the welt that had grown around it.

Here he was; untouched and unscathed.
Here I am; unspoken and unattached.

I used to think we were alike.
That I, too, was a simple girl in a simple way.

I now know that we are different.
That he, too, is unable to know the horror, only the grief.

And this welt will grow bigger and bigger, day by day;
But I don't have the heart to pull the stinger out of my skin.

It has made itself apart of me, apart of my pain.
And for some reason, I like the pain.

I like the sting of innocence, blatantly mocking my used persona.
And he likes the way hide my delicacy beneath it.