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Feb 1 · 71
the garden
Oli Feb 1
flesh and blood
intertwined with lines,
lovely, but not poetic
we found no poetry
in the garden
and no use for allegory
just a form of sophistry
shouldn't be so cowardly
in your garden
smothered in moist air from the mouth of my mother,
with golden hair like hers
gentle and pear shaped
the smell of fruit moldering in a soggy paper bag
a violent departure
or cathartic release
loathing the honey
thirsty for poetry
i want to be
in your garden
Jan 21 · 574
I love you (sep 2019)
Oli Jan 21
the type of love that gives you lungs in place of a heart that
gives you aches and pains in places you've never thought before
the type of love that we're all tired of talking about
some more than others
the floor is a maze, it's a tricky walk to the door but i
love you
enough to dig these nails right into
my skin, and tear open everything enough to dive six feet into the watery grave of an old wanderer, who's seen more than one could ever want to confess
i am a mess but i
i love you
Jan 21 · 31
Untitled (nov 2017)
Oli Jan 21
come fire, come water, come rain 

as i push my fingers all across this bridge again
please just know that i have mended this incessant belly ache. bruised up legs, purple and black, tie knots, lash whips upon my frets

keep me alive till the very last second.

through ******, through answers, in vain

moving houses from the smell her only sister permeates, and each one dances, a formation, inside Dymphna's cabaret. looking down every minute at the differences we share

skeletons, never hidden, not by the skin, its shape, out in the open, my bones are for everyone to stare.
Jan 21 · 24
Untitled (jan 2019)
Oli Jan 21
I had a vision this morning, something lucid yet wholly patient, like those small, tight gaps in the aisles of that Mexican mini market. Orange light contrasting with the pale blue morning just near the entrance. Something simple to tie knots with my peach colored dress. Their flesh colored fingers stretched across a bridge of impatient melodies, a million miles away from me, a million miles away from the scent, so familiar and uninspired.

I could have counted for miles, oh how it went
against my own instincts, my own reflection
my father was there, he stood a witness, to my pink, plastic Odyssey
yeah, he stood there in front of me, sitting patiently, watching the words spill from my mouth
And I couldn't have let go of these ugly devices in which I controlled the spaces in every word spoken, days to years, believing that one day, that gap would be closing
And I'd be running to the arms of a drug addled savior, with one hand below my chin, and a pen in the other
Giving thanks to a sad eyed, bronzed skinned lover for the time before I worried her mother, coming home to her empty bedroom
Screaming over the phone to an officer in blue, and me under the covers
I could hear almost every word spilled from her mouth
like marbles, they did
they bludgeoned me half to death

I picked up an old object, reused and repurposed, strength in my fingertips waning, breathing heavily
I dropped to my knees
and easily

that pulsating red line

and that familiar melody would once again return to me, revitalized and
Jan 11 · 116
Oli Jan 11
she looked like me, in some ways
she looked like my mother
not only was she so familiar, but reflected who i wish i could be, not just physically but in how comfortably she seemed to live
and she asked me why i didn't just leave, why i didn't just run away
she asked what keeps me here in a state of discomfort and abuse and i said
comfort isn't running
comfort is getting to stay

oh, emorie,
don't be afraid to hurt me,
i just want to be someone worth hurting
Jan 10 · 92
love poem
Oli Jan 10
at first i thought i wanted to be you
but i think that was me just trying to cope with the fact that
you are the most beautiful person i have ever let my eyes on
and that
i don't exist to occupy some abstract space in my mind where i am a trophy that no one could have, that means nothing to anybody but me
and exists to be pretty
and kept behind glass for no one to see except me
when i come back to dissociative thoughts to say "look what i achieved" but i think i see the truth is that
i look much better beside you
#love #dysphoria
Jan 5 · 131
The Color
Oli Jan 5
it was never going to work out for me.
i don't know who or what ever made me believe that i could be anything other than the manic and unmedicated thing that I've seen in the mirror my whole life
i don't know who's delicate and dedicated faith i've appropriated to get me this far without bleeding my breath out of this place, out of this space granted to me by those with much cleaner skin than mine could ever hope to be
and i always wanted to make my poems as pretty as the person that i want to be
but you're the most beautiful person i've ever seen, so i don't know anymore
and i can't tell where i exist, still incomplete and separate from the body that i wish to inhabit and the life i want to live
like i am the color, but you are the shape of every single part of me
and it makes me so, so
because it reminds me that i'm still here, despite dissociation
and i'm still me, despite appropriation
and i'm still fundamentally broken, despite 10 years since i'd first discovered love and the hurt i'd felt from it
happy new year
Oli Jan 4
i saw her today
i don't want to explain the ways I'd crash into her face, similar shapes, the things we share just vague enough to where it makes me think of where I came from
If only we were the same
if i could make one mess, i'd smash into her til her chest caved in
i'd tear out both my legs and hope they bled, just to see how this long, blue skirt could lose the value in every thread that keeps it together
i would watch the nuances in the color
i would swallow what's in between just to save it for later
i would have my guts exposed to see what comes out from there
and if i could?
i would **** myself until i couldn't believe myself, as if i could see myself, just like standing through a mirror
i would eat myself
with my own mouth.
Dec 2019 · 120
Oli Dec 2019
i will be beautiful, i will be known, i will exist, i will live, i can survive, i will be something to believe in, i'll be real, i won't be down, i will find a way out, i'll paint my own life on my own skin
i can live, i can be alive, i can be able to breathe, i am dead
i am dead i am dead
i am dead, i am dead
i am dead
but i can be alive
i can't breathe
but i can catch my breath
I can i can
i can' i can I
Dec 2019 · 51
the last letter
Oli Dec 2019
for a year now i have been focusing on myself and only myself.
it has been the hardest thing i've ever had to do.
not because i'm incapable of loving myself, like it might had seemed in the past.
i'm not. i think i've found that to be the easiest part of this whole thing. honestly. no, i think it might be because i do love myself.
the problem is in saving the person you love, fixing them. helping them grow into the person they want to be.
or in my case,
the person i want to be.
it's hard to get up.
it's hard to face the pain and the anxiety of not liking my body, of wanting to change it.
it's hard having to lay in bed and cry to songs when i have no more energy left to keep it together.
it's hard.
but it's not something i used to be brave enough to do.
you know, i used to be focused on
other people, other things.
anything but me.
i guess i'm finally here.
and it's so ******* hard.
but it's what i want to do.
cause i'm not numb anymore. cause i feel empathy and love for others now.
i can feel, more than ever in my whole entire life.
cause this is painful, but numbness hurt so much worse. it buried my feelings, under the guise of protecting me.
but even though i may hurt living genuinely in this world around me, i also love so much more.

it hurts.
it hurts.
i hope i make it. i hope i make it out of this alive with a real smile and a body to call mine.
Dec 2019 · 66
Oli Dec 2019
oh, you, you
i'd call you lovely if i wasn't feeling as numb as i do
not of me to say things i dont mean, but i do think if i could
you'd be lovely to me
lovely to someone
lovely to somebody
Dec 2019 · 121
Oli Dec 2019
Who am I pretending to be?
Can anyone tell me?
Pick up that pen and paper, who am I imitating today?
Who's passion and preciseness becomes filler and *******?
Who's vigorous melodies become the background to my ******* fake scenes of emotional clarity?
Who gets to be the air I breath?
Because God knows my supply is empty.
Because I wake up with worse eyesight than I'd gone to sleep with
And that's just so tragic to me, right?
Because my body does nothing but relay horrifying secrets and things to be afraid of, and all it takes is a glance to believe it
Because I've seen it.
But I don't want to lose the fundamental parts of me that just happen to experience this hell I'm living
I just want to stop this aching.
But no matter how many times or methods I use to say it,
it doesn't stop.
Words and songs, and things I want and things I want to be
colors and concepts that I find fascinating - no, life saving - no, everything to me
Art can't save me.
Art is what I choose to be, and I know I can't love, or take care of, let alone
Nov 2019 · 229
to reinvent oneself
Oli Nov 2019
it's not a doctor's needle it's a spring pushed through your back
it's not running water
it's not safe or responsible
it's not natural order it's your hair ******* in knots
head pulled back and forth
fun and accessible
it's not home, it's where your heart is stopped
it's not common sense
it's not something you said
much less something you ate
took or replaced
or gave away, for whatever reason you did
it's not me, and it doesn't matter who said it

if you want to reinvent yourself,
Nov 2019 · 206
Oli Nov 2019
i can't give you the moment when you enter my home, and are introduced to its scent, and could not foresee that you would become so familiar with it. i can't give you any kind of structure, regardless of its condition. and though i exist, i just can't bear to prove it. you take me entirely on faith, and i should be forever grateful that you tolerate my absence and lack of transparency. and yet any move i make is not worthy, though i not only move, i disturb and wreck the space you've granted me. and still you tolerate me. my absence and lack of transparency.
Sep 2019 · 95
Original Sin
Oli Sep 2019
well i could explain, but i dont really want to
i could try to convince you, but it's not in my best interest
so I'll keep it to myself, and nothing's gonna change that
it's the way that i feel, and i feel

i gotta work a little harder for it
i gotta walk,
i gotta walk

calling you, this bliss
orginal sin
Aug 2019 · 76
Seed of War
Oli Aug 2019
sad faced abuser, empathy aesthetic
reach out to you for a little bit of
empathy, catharsis
burned on the streets, the blacktop
black heat with the black mountains on top

quit hearing words, you can see so much better
quit taking notes, you're relieved of your methods
the things you could try, try
try and use against us
try and give a hand
between the both of mine, folded under
what's the point in any color now
red is nothing but so tired now
and we're all so tired
too tired to surrender

if we all go to sleep will we learn our next lesson
if we all go to sleep will it be something different
if I go to sleep will I be something other than weak, and broken
If I close my eyes will this cease
If I choose to eat will it prevent some disaster
If I live like
a woman
a person
If I live for me I can stop how it's spreading
taking care of yourself is revolutionary
Jul 2019 · 323
Reanimation (I love myself)
Oli Jul 2019
I love myself like this rest loves this blackness
I love myself like this ink loves this canvas
I love myself like the starving love the bulbs of tulips, like the blood heals the wounds, like the wicked love the prophet
I love myself
I love myself like this life loves the ever thinning thread
I love myself like this fate loves to tempt and be tempted
I love myself like this razor loves edges, like promises of tomorrow bleeding from shiny buildings and cherry blossom reflections
like the love in natural devastation and bare feet stood on the ever changing surface through heat, through rain, through the broken things climbing back up through cracks to breathe, to see
the love in their moans when they realize only you can feel this feeling
I love myself
I love myself through the perpetual edge of a flatline, dead weight ripping the fabric, fashion, fast lanes and dead time, dead skin and dead lines
Yeah, I have dead friends in low places
so I call this one "reanimation"
two headed reflection, what it's like to die and stay alive
I love myself because it's my only option
Today is my birthday.
Jun 2019 · 95
Rori II
Oli Jun 2019
She is the queen of the ocean, the outed, the plastic bag pavilion
the saint of the sand below her
sustained by faulty beams of wood and lower case letters
She is the candle-lit scene, ashamed of ugly things that roam inside her
She is pressed against your chest in rest, she is a rusted key, dropped to her knees, tending to your feet
She is the anchor in your fist, always afraid to fall asleep again, she is the stagger in the step of the witch
the orange light boasts its wings just behind her
And her loves, her loves will lead the cavalry
her loves will storm the halls, big or small, the caverns of history's birth will bleed and moan
and her loves will have returned with endless light to hold
Jun 2019 · 274
Oli Jun 2019
I feel a pain when I look inside houses,
lit like ****, cloth on the table
staring back 
I only ever lived in cheap apartments, and we moved somewhere new every few years
People grow up in houses, they come and go when they're older, they die in them 
My only experience being welcome in a house, a man I knew who's wife ended up dying in it
It was only weeks later when he took his own life in it
I'm afraid of houses, the implications of commitment, the familiarity, the comfort 
When the foundation becomes cancerous, 
These never ending thoughts of how your comfort can become a haunted house 

I'm so afraid of death.

I know I wrote that poem, last December, 
I said I no longer fear death 
Let me correct it
I no longer fear dying 
But I fear death
God, do I fear death

Sometimes, I like to believe I'm a superhero,
queen of dissociation, maybe 
My trauma, my dysphoria is nothing in the context of this...prophecy, plot armor, whatever it is keeping in line with the story
of who I am, where I came from, of how this pain truly meant something 
but if I abandon fiction to breathe uncertainty 
raise my arms in front of me, bracing 
where do I exist outside of me
written feb 13 2019
Jun 2019 · 143
Oli Jun 2019
blood leak low
empty glass on the hardwood floor
not sorry any more
thinly shaped
open shine
sickly frame
partly looming like branches like
like Rori
like laughter like
like Oli
like Oli
Jun 2019 · 119
Oli Jun 2019
if you see me staring at the cloud, that single static cloud that is draped around his small, dove grey shoulders
it's only enchantment
if you see me stalling, stoic, searching for the proper words to speak to such beauty, the stormless cheeks of her city
it's only dissociation
Cerberus, the sad song of love just past the edge of your gate
I don't have much left to sing
May 2019 · 129 love
Oli May 2019
my love, my love
all of it for you, babe
take a burning bottle and bury it in my chest
love's the only thing that can take away the pain
rest upon the pigment, pressed against your cheek
love like red and pink, tug of war
waves so frightening
gloss and sweat, she gives it to me
my love
makes me feel like,
a woman
a baby in sleep
a lemon tree bursting in heat

love love love
Apr 2019 · 93
Oli Apr 2019
Annie holds a poorly drawn picture under unbearably hot water
keeping eyes locked with her own in the mirror
and Annie pokes holes through the small green letters
and smothers the small pink people, devolving into a soup of colors
and she can't hear the television, she can't see the little one
green, pink
dancing down the drain
strings from her foaming mouth
searching for her bare ankles through the steam
Apr 2019 · 1.1k
Oli Apr 2019
i'm mounting my bicycle
i'm minding the pain in my gums
in my eyes and the sun
and the candy rappers, little candy rappers
there's blood on my palms
there's a trail in the dirt
there's an older man, holding hands with his small daughter
and he smiles back
and now i have a reference, but not today
today i suffer
allow me to suffer
my mouth full of sugar, and a muffled "no"
no, no
no, not today
you're not allowed to save me
i have shiny clothes and my mouth is sticky,
you're not allowed to take me
save me, erin
Mar 2019 · 128
Pollinator (blood)
Oli Mar 2019
Scissors and slanted fingers
Skeletal trills
Stretched, hung, resembling my pollinator
sliding down my throat, and cut
and choke on the blood
Thicker than pink or red
and purple and black
beneath my father
Jan 2019 · 331
Comfortable Things
Oli Jan 2019
I saw you, a bright, brittle, wood-carved room. Down the stairs, the lowest floor. That old library. Yellow chairs, steel shelves.
Summer heat, numb and vague. Young and gay. Dozens of steps away.
Stickers on paperback books, wildlife, Japanese words.
I was sweating, smudged, my face was ready, ready for the transformation to come.
But I sat and closed my eyes, in the company of one green telephone, and I fell asleep, love forgive me.
The lonely things that fell upon me then, that cut my head, I can't embrace them anymore.
I whisper to myself, as they walk right in, placing things here and there, brand new things, comfortable things, minding me calmly.
I didn't need to speak a word.
I ask myself, "how long?", dirt already adding onto my skin, as I climb into my brand new bed.
Jan 2019 · 162
Satan, or someone else
Oli Jan 2019
Catch me if you can, I'm spread above the earth
I'll catch a morning train so we can figure out what hurts
In a place of dying men
I cry sometimes, but that's all part of it
Yeah, that's all part of it, don't catch yourself

I leave it opened up, but you can put it back just fine
You're a sucker for that sentimental sorcery of mine
Stuck below the surface, I want to love you more
But that's all part of it, I guess, that's all part of it

I don't know what to say, I've done all that I can,
and if it really hurts then you can press your hand against the glass
I'll be there with you first, know you'll never have to wait,
no, you'll never have to be alone
Jan 2019 · 113
Oli Jan 2019
The gods forgot they made me
So I forget them too
I listen to the shadows
I play among their graves

My heart was never broken
My patience never tried

I got seven days to live my life
Or seven ways to die

David Bowie - Seven
David Bowie passed 3 years ago today. These lyrics comforted me a whole lot during a very, very dark time in my life, as well as many more from the beautiful man.
Jan 2019 · 201
18 years
Oli Jan 2019
I've been looking at old pictures of rock stars in their prime
such feminine, almost childlike features compared to their current selves
There are some of Bob Dylan playing guitar with Donavan
And one of Lou Reed with his hand pressed against his cheek, sitting at a table with Jagger and Bowie, at Cafe Royal in London
and when I see them I think,
"I want to be young."
but I am young
years younger, in fact
not a great a write. sorry.
Jan 2019 · 1.2k
for Judy
Oli Jan 2019
I woke up today at the border of the morning, in that old war bunker, crowded with boxes and medical supplies, missing the asphalt and the tree line
Half dead and unaware, in this undead pharmacy, taking fragments from the shelves
And who's really gonna stop me if there is no one around?
Wasted all of my prayers on all of the obvious things
days spent walking miles to the pawn shop, or the futility of looking for what to take with me

My visions of thin skin are poking at their veins, of which I'm having memories of in unrelenting fashion
and though I'm only 23 my heart feels like a chasm
of mayflower proportion

I think to write you a letter, think fast to find a pencil, but there never is one, so I crumble up the paper
I think to write you a letter, but there never is one
But it'd be cruel not to leave one
So with all the strength I can muster, with the most minimal of treasures that haunt this long abandoned shelter,
I am hardly able to form words, let alone sentences
The crumbled paper giving under my childlike formed fist
And I see my face in Judy Garland's, in the glass, my reflection in a framed picture
my Judy
The last letter
Spilling out from my lips

I am not beautiful yet
I am ugly to the very core
but I will rearrange my bones, if not for this, then for that framed picture
and what it reflected
for Judy, and a reminder to stop focusing so much on trying to make art, but living my life like art.
Dec 2018 · 365
Oli Dec 2018
Rori counted all the boxes lying just down below the stairs
She counted with her young, thin fingers, that seemingly could break from the slightest weight
But as you could tell from all the oranges sitting safe inside those boxes
of projected ghostly leaves and branches
They weren't going anywhere

And Rori wiped some sweat from her forehead
Her crucifix danced with her movements
She reached into a sea of bottled water and helped herself to some
The queen upon a throne of wheat bread and powdered milk
Crackers and the usual canned goods
As a line of people formed before her, there was no more time to ****
Just near the truckload of backpacks of all colors of the rainbow

Rori knew, without a doubt, that this was gonna be the year
She'd go out searching in the mountains, through every crevice for the light snow that fell upon this city
In December of 2007
she was 8 years old that day
But Rori knew, without a doubt, that this was gonna be the year
That it would be back to stay
Dec 2018 · 2.7k
Swim Skirt
Oli Dec 2018
All the girls with their knees in the sand, stretching all throughout the shore, like a mass modeling gig
And me, I laid on my side, curled up and somewhat hidden in the sand
The buildings with their business, and their free form people, stood up and looked straight down on me
And I closed my eyes, and I held myself and cried

It was there that the salt air invaded my thoughts, breathing in, nose was running, I picked myself up, merely stumbling from where I arose
And I was warmer, climbing out from that umbrella, the sun touching these brazenly exposed parts of my body that I still tried my best to hide in such a setting
And Dandy, he's been gone for a bit now
So I split down the narrower parts

And the sun started setting towards my back, and my bare feet were starting to get cold
But the lights, they stayed lit, and dim like a friend in a moment of doubt
And a song played from the bar, it echoed a ways about, and all the people were hoping its words could save their moments and keep them somewhere

And some people gathered around me, asking me questions and looking concerned, from what I could tell
But I wasn't quite listening, I was too busy singing a song to myself
hoping my words would save my young body
from death
from aging
from something I felt
Oli Dec 2018
Often times a question regarding death, "what happens, where do you go?"
I'd say it's neutral, no ringing ears, nothing at all.
Though I've grown up neck deep in the tired and frightening atmosphere of death, nights spent as a child contemplating my own existence, I had learned to accept it at a fairly young age
This question no longer bothers me

Before I walked, before I talked genuinely, I was a million questions, a million ideas all kept under lock
And the way I walked and talked was not my own
And now, some days they'll call me a "man", but what I am is a hybrid of all of these thoughts
bright and faded colors, painted fingers and toes, distorted and vulnerable

And that sudden burst of consciousness at birth was the same I'd come to know in that moment, at the bottom with the fishes, counting pictures and having visions with my last bit of oxygen. Mermaids, gold glitter, and snakes in the water.
Never had I known such a gentle touch, among some collapsed lakeside cottage.

And that is why I am no longer afraid of death, because to cease to exist is not any kind of experience.
And I will always remember, the sudden burst of consciousness just before the renaissance that ensued from your touch.

And I will not wait
And I will sing in a violently feminine fashion
before the day my lung collapses
Dec 2018 · 859
Borrowed Tune
Oli Dec 2018
i'm singing this borrowed tune
i took from Neil Young
alone in this empty room
too wasted to write my own
Dec 2018 · 518
1 Peter 5:7
Oli Dec 2018
I waded through the grass below the glass on the balcony of the old library, tired eyes, stretching my fingers, harboring an unfamiliar touch 

And since we last spoke, I saw the most in ancient scriptures not unlike yours
but they were mine to keep, and my soft hands yearned to heal them all

And when I'd caught up with you there 

I did not protest 
I was not afraid 
My limbs lost all conviction 
Like a newborn fawn against your frame 
the sun shining on the both of us, erasing the concrete and the electric blue 
who am i
why do i love you the way i do
Dec 2018 · 1.1k
on the day my lung collapses
Oli Dec 2018
mother's flats again, a size too small
the old, empty box of hair dye by the sink looks nothing like me
my hands leaning against the counter, another prayer
feeling my breath, a slow exhale
a vacancy, though a victory
the contrast of a dimly lit kitchen and a shy, partly cloudy morning
i looked once more at the eviction
counting crosses on the walls
the toy beetle poking its wheels out of the small closet
darkness in the hall
gave one last costly smile before letting them sleep
it was all that i could do
Dec 2018 · 657
Oli Dec 2018
There is a garden here inside of my head, my flowers wilting away

There is a killer with a gun to my back, I'm gonna do what he says
Dec 2018 · 317
Oli Dec 2018
hallway of spiders, garden of smoke

"come inside, don't be shy", she said
so i dropped to my knees and i dug with my fingers
the soil, falling over my head
coating my skin
mud from my mouth
deeper within
cover the surface, "believe, believe in me" i said

hallway of spiders, houses of dirt

in his life, there is nothing but his empty chairs, and empty suitcases
so she brought him to town
told him she'll be around
a new friend
who never makes a sound
and she is well
and she is found
it's so profound
around and around and around

you ask me if i'm certain
you tell me the difference
but i tell you all feel is in love

— The End —