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olivia Nov 2019
Blatantly disobeying an unspoken oath

Not one, but both

I breeched the space you saved for me in your root

And you broke into my laptop and read my messages

And you flipped through all my journals and read my pages

Sure I did an awful thing

I did a bad thing

But do I deserve to be tortured and tormented on the daily?

Maybe.

Do I deserve to feel violated and broken down, baby?

Maybe, the answer is maybe.


A lease is legally binding our hearts

We should be breaking it

The way I broke yours

The way you broke mine


You read me poetry about all the girls you loved before

And I felt like crying

I did feel a tear

Trickle down my cheek and land on my thigh

More specifically, you read me poetry about Kelly

The way you lit up reading those words

made me think about how

I don’t think you ever wrote about me


I swelled with grief at the notion

Of knowing our love has come to the most

Unnatural conclusion


I didn’t think it was over

Because, baby, I thought

It ain’t over ’til it’s over


But when you asked for my Disney+ password

Knowing very well it’d be the password to my everything

You broke the broken vase

And there’s not such thing as double kintsugi
olivia Oct 2019
A venn diagram or an x-axis or a y-axis or a bar graph or a pictograph
I wanna take a picture of your pain
And show it to a me that has yet to hurt you
And disrupt the space time continuum or whatever it’s called
My friend, Ra, like the sun she is
Used to punch herself in the head when she got anxious
I always thought it was ******* mental and scary as hell
Now I have to sit on my hands to refrain from hurting myself
I guess I just didn’t know extreme discomfort yet
I thought I did
Oh did I have another thing coming for me

If I could fold time and conflate experience
I’d arrest my own self
Hands trapped inside of cuffs
And not the **** pink fuzzy kind
I’d lock myself up in a prison
So that those around me would be safe from my wrecking ball
I’d save them from myself
By destroying myself
I’d put my soul in a paper shredder
And throw the remnants in a dull green dumpster

Perhaps I’m exacerbating the experience
We’ll call it “emotional cutting”
Listening to 100,000 Fireflies
Looking at that video of you saying “wake up, wake up, wake up”
Continuously going out of my way for you
Even though you say stop
I cant help it
I need to put a bandaid over this volcano
I need to win you over
I want you to come over to my side of the bed
Leaving so much space on the left side
As we are wrapped in each other

I promise I didn’t mean to ****** you when I massaged your back
I know my promises mean nothing
Like you said, a relationship is built in trust..
And there’s none there

But there’s love and light and life
And where there’s life there’s hope

I don’t want to meet you in the future
At the supermarket
With your wife

I want you to be my forever fling
Wearing an opal ring

I am your wife
olivia Oct 2019
Reaching still for you
The way you reach for me
In the morning
Your right arm wrapped around my belly
Butterflies
Fluttering inside

Crying for you still
The way you cried
At Hey Arnold
Your saltwater coursing through your cheeks
Tasting my tears
Like the salt rim around the margarita
I drink to forget you

But I will never forget you
Your soul in ingrained in my brain
I close my eyes (awake) and see your crooked front teeth
I close my eyes (asleep) and see us laughing, swinging

And you will remember me
The way I left you
Like a crackhead leaving their daughter behind
Only to be reconciled a decade later
Resentment isn’t the word, neither is forgiveness

“You won’t be happy with me
But give me one more chance
You won’t be happy anyway”

Maybe I’ll sing your favorite song at karaoke
And bring the house down with sadness
Like when you sang Skyway
Your cinnamon flavored voice booming

I always put an excess of it in my oatmeal
Although it makes my eyes
Water

I should drink some water
I should get some sleep
I should take my meds

I will dress in black
I will chain smoke my spirits
I will drink myself to a stupor
ZzzzZZZzzzzzz tired ZZzzzzzZZZZ
ZZZZzzzzZ sleeping ZZZzzzzzZ
ZzzZZZZZZzZ living ZzzzZZzzZz
ZZzZzZzzzZZ dead ZzZzZZzZz
  Oct 2019 olivia
E. E. Cummings
in the rain-
darkness,     the sunset
being sheathed i sit and
think of you

the holy
city which is your face
your little cheeks the streets
of smiles

your eyes half-
thrush
half-angel and your drowsy
lips where float flowers of kiss

and
there is the sweet shy pirouette
your hair
and then

your dancesong
soul.     rarely-beloved
a single star is
uttered,and i

think
       of you
  Oct 2019 olivia
E. E. Cummings
If
If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.
olivia Oct 2019
flicked down and dark
lightswitch
up
up
away
head in the clouds
straining to crane my neck
around
back to you
checking
to see if you're there

but when I see you
I'm a burning sun
although I'm only the moon
inconstant and dark and dull
but you light me up
you flick me on and up

I imagine you touching me
touching you, touching me
I know I'd only quiver
I'd shake
an earthquake
my thighs are vibrating
as I'm waiting
waiting
waiting

how can I miss something I've never had

somehow I already want more

more of you and more of me

but mostly more of you and me
#love
olivia Aug 2019
I write with a pink Bic now

My phone is white and out of storage and I’m not connected to the
   cloud because it freaks me out, so every time I delete a picture, she
   asks “are you sure?” And I “delete anyway”
My high school best friend’s cousin’s husband just died and I’m
   wondering why I’m weeping for a kin I never grew akin to, a mere
   stranger, a subtle blip in my matrix. But his poetry
   is beautiful, I know that. And his music is beautiful, I know that.
I drank a root beer float tonight and the night before, or did I eat it? It
   reminded me of buying 99 cent slushes at Convenient. Or the
   “healthy” slushes I bought to accompany my soft pretzel everyday
   in middle school.
On the terrace, everyone else ate hot dogs and I looked down,
   holding my soggy French fries and wondering what else there is out
   there besides ketchup and mustard: like in Princess Diaries when
   Julie Andrews puts mustard on her corndog. I always thought
   that was so cool.
Or when Mia Thermopolis sit sideways in her giant comfy chair after
   throwing darts at balloons filled with paint aka “stupid cupid stop
   picking on me” or is it… “hitting on me”
Remember when Ben Day asked for pictures and when you sent cute
   selfies in your sports bra, he responded, “okay, but can they not be
   of your face?”
Or when Ben Wilson taught you that “hurt people hurt people” and
   had “ultra conservative” on his Facebook page underneath political
   views and you had go ask what that meant. I Corinthians 1:13 or
   something like that was always my favorite bible verse because its
   the only one I ever learned by heart.
Hail Satan.
We all rot under late capitalism.
But I didn’t know that then. I know that now, but not then.
Now I wonder mostly about the ethics behind “procreating.” I wanna
   bear fruit, but I can’t even stand the thought of myself burning in a
   fiery pit, let alone my spawn.
But,
My stepsister is pregnant. She found out the “gender” today, “boy.”
   My nieces and nephews have had a very gendered upbringing, I
   guess I did too: barbies and bratz and Betty spaghetti.
I know everyone always says they just want a “healthy, happy baby”
But I have a crippling nicotine addiction and manic depression, I’m
   not healthy or happy.
Do you think I was the idea my parents pictured when my mom peed
   on that stick and got a plus sign?
Probably not.
I hate to disappoint.
They can live in the glory days when my cursive handwriting was
   better than anyone else’s in my second grade class. Olivia Layne
   Ulmer on that brown, dotted, lined paper.

With a yellow no.2 pencil.
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