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Olivia Apr 2019
I sit in a still, quiet room.
While typing away I begin to grow weary... afraid...
My hands falter, and I pause.
Gazing out the window beside me I wonder,
"What is the point of trying?" "How can I be so presumptuous?"
"Who would possibly care about what I have to say?"

A few stale moments pass,
then I glance down at my notes.
Pages, among pages, and pages of a world,
of a single message...

I smile,
And open my blinds to the dazzling sunlight.
For once I do not bow to what I believe,
That I do not deserve to feel
Or proud.

I continue on.
I continue on to tell the story
I want to tell.
I continue on to bring joy to others
That I feel for myself and my work.

And I hope that out there you do too.
Olivia May 2018
I’ll carve your face on the Moon,
while I climb a ladder of stars.
Past the satellites with the blinking lights
to meet you for a picnic on Mars.
Tread the crystalline ice,
play in the cold till we’re chilled,
then dance across the Asteroid Belt seeking cheap thrills.
We reminisced our vacation where we soaked up the rays
lazing and dazing, last week on Mercury.
A day-trip to Jupiter reminds me what I’d do for her;
shelter her from every storm.
And in turn, as we’re on Saturn,
her love outshines the planets iridescent form.
You’ll laugh at my attempts
to compare your eyes with the diamonds of Uranus.
Then, I’ll playfully splash you
While we skinny dip on Neptune
We lay to rest on Pluto and sleep for a hundred and fifty-three hours or so.
Then, when the day breaks I’ll watch your face as the sun and your smile creeps awake.
We make it back to Earth by noon.
We say we'll see each other soon.
But we both know that there’s no place, other than in space
Where we can make ‘us’ work.
Olivia Aug 2017
It's cold in my head
Though the words still burn.
It's hard without him here
I thought I had learned,
But the emptiness wraps all around.

It's cold in my heart,
And even though he is there,
I looked
And I am nowhere to be found.
Olivia Aug 2017
His neck ceased its throbbing
against my canines;
I knew he was dead.
Black oozed, red ran, yellow curdled.
I relished in the sensation, not the flavor.
The sweet honey of life drank warm,
then flowed through me icy cold.
My bloodied fingers shut his forlorn eyes
and then there was finally peace.
Dipped, scarlet hands washed over in gold
by the light of streetlights overhead.
So I left.
Wobbling alongside the darkness,
head rushing,
eyes lulling
I caught a whiff of something delectable.
Fresh paint draped over a moldy brick wall.
I looked over to see it was true.
Sanctified by a glossy, white sheet
the wall waited for me.
I grinned.
Stumbling over I grabbed a can leftover and began to pry.
One nail, two nails, only three torn off in struggle,
but the payoff, oh, so satisfying.
The untouched liquid within beckoned to me.
I submerged a finger, then the hand.
Mixing to make a frothy pink I was pleased.
Stroke after stroke I fixed the wall before me.
Streaks of red and white, but over all
a glorious rosy hue.
I smiled back at the smiling face.
I went home.
Olivia Aug 2017
Dear Uncle Jack,
I hope you'll come back
to the family that surely loves you.
Grandma turns in her grave
for every day
that we are pushed forward without you.
Dear Uncle Jack,
yes, Mom called you a whack,
but I know you're not crazy.
You're lost.
Just stop selling crack,
and you'll find what you lack
when Samantha, your daughter, can hold you.
Dear Uncle Jack,
I called you twice before I left home to find you.
Dear Uncle Jack, I'm outside your house.
I've knocked for hours, where are you?
Dear Uncle Jack,
I thought you'd be hanging out at home,
but not from the ceiling fan.

— The End —