Some Sort of Wistful Reflections

May 2020

Olivia

How I long to give in to the mortal pleasures of the flesh,
Yet lusting for the release of the physical world I exist,
Paradoxically halted by my own humanity.

Am I this name, this face, this soul?
Is this body inseparable from me?
I look at my digits and exalt in their beauty, these vessels which carry me through life.

How I wish to ascend to the heights of consciousness,
Yet praying for the escape from this eternal solitude,
Perpetually stunted by my own humanness.

Am I this heart, this blood, this mind?
Are those people inseparable from me?
I look at their digits and exalt in their beauty, those vessels which carry us through life.

How fleeting, how trivial, how small everything is.
How permanent, how significant, how immense everything is to me.

Mar 2020

Olivia

Do You Mind?

Do you mind that I might seek you out?
I am not certain what this feeling is, this glowing fire that I have lit inside of myself.
Sometimes I hope that it might consume me entirely.
Yet I strike the match such that it burns just enough to pleasantly warm my thoughts.

Do you mind that I might think of you?
I am not certain why this feeling is, this divine light which I myself have cast upon you.
Sometimes I hope that it might fade into nothingness.
Yet I stoke the embers such that they may never turn cold.

Do you mind that I might wonder about you?
I am not certain how this feeling is, this burning sun which sets often and not at all.
Sometimes I hope that it may warm you as it does me.
Yet I stare into the flames such that they begin to fade without my intervention.

Mar 2020

Olivia

Divinity

Here we lay, victims to a divine and unyielding power.
Yet in another land it is I who stands on the precipice.
I do not fear, I do not love, I do not long in this, my creation.

Here I lay, at peace in a world of my own making.
I may finally ascribe divinity to myself.
I do not hide, I do not reach, I do not withhold in this, my creation.

Mar 2020

Olivia

Blood

O, come now my brothers.

Come weep at the river that I myself have dredged.

The toil, no, the fruit of my labor is borne.

Unto you all who may reap its rewards.

O, come now brothers.

Your sweet notes I hear, crying out.

Watch as I slice myself open.

And turn the river red with blood.

Jan 2020

Olivia

18

I wore my Sunday best,
I am ready to shed this year.

I bore sorrows through eyes as yet unharmed,
I know better now.

I learned love and love learned me,
Now we sit hand in hand... most days.

I put myself into a box,
I pulled myself out again.

I have enjoyed it all,
As time turns everything golden.

Am I doing you justice, o 18th year?

I was told that 19 is an incredible age to be.

Now I am on its precipice.

I think I will jump with both feet first.

Nov 2019

Olivia

Glass, II

I would like to preserve you in a glass jar.
I would like to preserve you in a glass
I would like to preserve you in a
I would like to preserve you in
I would like to preserve you in the sunlight.
I would like to preserve you
I would like to preserve
I would like to
I would like to end this finally.
I would like
I would
I would have done anything.

Nov 2019

Olivia

Glass, I

I tried to preserve you in a glass jar against my better judgement.
So here I am, sitting across the table from the phantom form of you.
Would you like some tea? No, I shouldn't entertain your presence.
I would like some tea, but you'd never invite me over, would you?
Oh how I wished it so, how I tried to manifest you into reality.

I always knew you were doomed to remain a fairy tale.

Against my better judgement I tried to preserve you in a glass jar.
So here I am, sitting across the table from the phantom form of you.
Would you like to leave? No, I will still trap you here.
I would like to leave, but you'd like that too much.
Oh how I wished I could, how I tried to leave you behind.

I always knew you were doomed to remain a fairy tale.

The glass is cracking, you are escaping, finally escaping.

I would like you to stay, I would like to leave, I would like to preserve you in a glass jar.

Nov 2019

Olivia

I Miss

I miss what I never thought I'd miss:
cicadas chirping
phantom insects
now crawl from the air vents
when the sun rises
dust is but dust.

I recall what I never thought I'd recall:
the city
walking up and down its streets
now running in my mind
when the alarm sounds
all is illusory.

I feel what I never thought I'd feel:
memories so real
leave me be, leave me be
I miss my home
where is this place
is it right?

I miss what I never thought I'd miss:
thoughts are swirling
I cannot understand
why here, why now, why this?
I have found my happiness
I have found it.

Jan 2019

Olivia

The Rain

It’s raining.
It’s always raining.
And the world cannot help but drip like watercolors from a painting that has been around for a long, long while.

It’s raining.
I asked for it to rain.
I did a rain dance but I didn’t want it to rain this hard, isn’t this just a little too hard because, well, I didn’t ask for this much?

It’s raining.
I never wanted it to rain.
Why is it always raining now when I had already felt the cold chill of a drizzle on my face and now there’s so much more?

It’s raining.
It’s not so bad.
Sometimes I forget about the rain when I go inside and it’s bright and I know I can be free because rain doesn’t stop life from going on.

It’s raining.
Now it’s a thunderstorm.
It sits like a brick in my stomach and infects me like an illness that I cannot shake and yes I asked for the rain but this is too much, so much, and now it is flooding and I cannot keep my head above water and perhaps I’m not resilient enough and perhaps I deserve it and perhaps if I could use my umbrella I would be able to ignore it better.

But I’ve lost my umbrella.

And it’s still raining.