Fifteen items or less

standing in the
express checkout lane
i count the items
of the chick
in front of me
just to make sure.
and then my items,
just to be safe
and even his items,
the guy behind me
because sometimes
i'm moralistic that way
and i like to keep
track of things
like that.
and if your items exceed 15,
i will not confront you directly,
or out you publically,
just secretly glare at you and loathe you
and judge you and
project all the bad qualities
i don’t like about myself onto you:
selfish.
rude.
ignorant.
and you’ll know, yes you’ll know that i know.

i look to the magazines
to see Jon and Kate
and i’m trying not to hate –
cuz i feel you, Kate, i do
i’ve been a fucking bitch too,
except i didn’t have the world watching
and waiting with glee me
to see me fall on my face
to point while i fell from grace

i look to the aging hippie with her Birkenstocks
and khaki shorts in front of me, she's made some
very healthy choices,
i see...
organic skim milk small curd cottage cheese.
whole grain bread, the fancy kind,
i'm talking the five dollars a loaf kind.
for bread. crazy.

don’t tell me- no...
she even has granola in her cart
and now suddenly, she has become a cliché.
and then, from out of no-where
i get this crazy thought.
i didn’t ask for this thought, mind you,
sometimes thoughts just come
and i have this stunning epiphany:

this woman
has a pussy
in her pants.
it’s true! she does!
it blows my mind a little
to think of her bush-
hiding out in there, under her clothes
and i start to marvel at
the wonder of it all.
she even has a clit, just like i do,
and someone maybe gets her off,
although from the looks
of her groceries,
it’s likely she does it herself.
and i have to wonder-
is she trimmed all tidy like a porn star?
or is it hairy, and bushy
like a 70s porn star?
is it big and loose and relaxed,
hanging out like an fat old cat
on the front porch or
small and pretty, contained,
folded neatly like a shirt at the gap?
then i take this further and i look around,
taking in every woman
in the whole goddamned Kroger
and her secret vagina.
it's crazy! all of us! we're all standing around
with our vaginas safely tucked away, hidden from view.
pretending they don't exist.
but they're there.
and the idea blows my mind,
see cuz usually i go around as if
i'm the only one with a vagina,
like the rest of the world might just have
smooth plastic crotches,
like barbies.

and tonight!
i look around this room
and i am thinking
about the hidden treasures
all around me -
hairy, unruly
overgrown temples, neat, polite and friendly envelopes,
sealed with a kiss... and all the pussies in between...

yeah, that’s right... i'm picturing your pussy.

go ahead, you can picture mine.

and the penises! don't even get me started on the penises!
that’s a whole other mind trip in itself,
all of ‘em hanging around, dangling all casually,
spying on us from behind their zippers
like hidden microphones... don’t even get me started.

cuz in this moment, ladies, its aaaall
about the vajayjay
sacred sexy,
slick or sticky,
the vagina in me
honors the vagina in you.

VAGASTE.

SO! back at Kroger,
fifteen items or less,
pussies all around me, all i can do is
marvel at it all...
i start to feel
so alive, so real.
to realize we're all hiding,
we're all so covered up
all the time, yet within each of us burns a fire,
lives a soul, beats a heart pumping with hot blood,
our vaginas hidden in secret spaces,
moist and ripe with reality.
i breathe in the sweet magical
truth of it all,
all of us, standing in line, with our hearts
and our cunts and
our souls and cocks
and secrets
and treasures and tongues and tales
and groceries and all i can do
is smile and breeeeathe.

its MY turn now, and
YES I have a Kroger Plus Card and YES
i may have 17 items but three items
are the same cans of stewed tomatoes,
so i count them as one.
and YES i have a pussy
and YES plastic’s okay,
and YES i DID, indeed,
find everything I needed today and then some.

and YES I WILL have a great day...
YOU have a great day, too.

- lisa olson

(featured in the poetry forum 08.24.09)

Hmmm...

If I decided
not to struggle
what would there be left
to whine about?

If I decided
not to whine
what would there be left
to talk about?

If I decided to
accept what is
what would there be left
to fight and resist?

If I decided to
surrender my grip
what would there be left
to hold on to?

Yet ease calls to me
coaxing smile, gentleness
showing me another way
and I am drawn
to her grace
and I am tempted
by her promises
and I am tickled
by her possibilities
and she says...

child, you don't need
to wiggle so...
nothing bad will happen
if you
just
let
go...

surprise, surprise!
lo and behold!

all those things
that seemed so
heavy once

all those things
that seemed so
important once

all those things
that seemed so
dreadful once

all those things
that made me feel
so small
and so tired
and scared
and martyr-like
all those sad little stories
and juicy little dramas
and tired little sagas...

all of my Favorite Struggles...

they all
shrink down
to their
actual size

as I step UP
into mine.

(The question is 'will I'?)

- lisa olson

(featured in the poetry forum 07.10.09)

decisions

i do not know
i do not know
i do not know
if i want my lashes defined
lengthened
volumized
or plumped.
i hate having to choose
such a thing
as this.
i do not know
if i want to breathe or
if i want to fold up in myself
like a blooming flower
backwards
we all go backward
we all fall down
and what if
this
is
all
there
is?
and i am here
dissolving
in the Maybelline aisle
at Target.
(Maybe she's born with it.)

- lisa olson

(added 03.20.09)

starbucks: five of them

"fuckin this" and "fuckin that"
they show the world
they are nearly men
by fucking everything...

"mom..." says one,
sheepishly on his cell
"can josh sleep over?"

they're playing with a lighter now
melting things
straws
cups
laughing in their almost grown voices

boys and fire
boys and their bobbing knees

they are silly
in their newly birthed
not yet broken in
manliness
new adams apples
legs skinny hairy
angular sharp
corners
goofy laughs
eating ice
loudly
crunch crunch
melting things,
burning things

they are annoying
they are loud.
they are children
playing with fire.

i want to tell them
"grow the fuck up"
stupids.
i scowl at them
i want
to tell on them.

do they think i'm pretty?

- lisa olson

(featured in the poetry forum 03.20.09)

On the Brink

   Are you ready? Get ready. Get set.

...

   Change...

is ablaze in your brain
as you feel its flame
spreading across synapses' bridges
on the brink of creations
wonders and amazements.

Change...

   is alive in this room
   you can feel its pulse driving;
   blood flowing through spirit
   on the brink of spontaneous combustion
   evolution revolution now.

   Are you ready? Get ready. Get set.

...

   Change...

moves in mysterious ways, delirious ways...

   in a book, in a song...

in a stroke of a brush...

   in a piece of poetry that cracks you open
   and puts you back together again...

in a perfectly timed twitch of the index finger
capturing the beauty of the moment...

   in the sweeping arch of a dancer's back...

in the final scene
of a barely seen
screen adaptation
of the book written
by the author you love
as the song you crave
plays with words in verses
that you painted
just the other day...

   in a gentle kiss that lands directly on your soul's cheek...

in a closed-eye embrace from your Daddy’s little girl,
in a soul-knowing look from your other half of the sky...

   in this moment right here.

Are you ready? Get ready. Get set.

...

   Change...

can come
on a cold winter's breath,
chilling you...

   filling you...

almost killing you,
leaving you frozen,
broken and alone.

   Change...

can come
in drip-by-drop erosions,
in imperceptible ways
when seen from day-to-day
but slowly and surely
weaves its way
into your life
in a canyon
of grand proportions.

   Are you ready? Get ready. Get set.

...

Your change is a’comin'.

   Your change is now.

Who ever told you you weren't enough...

   they lied.

Who ever told you you weren't worthy...

   they were wrong.

Who ever told you it wasn’t your destiny to change the world...

   they were sadly mistaken.

Are you ready?

   You are worthy.

Get ready.

   You are enough.

Get set.

   This IS your destiny.

Change...

   is anew in this world
   as we feel its birth emerging
   growth pushing through reality
   on the brink of a new earth.
   we are the ones.

Are you ready?

   Get ready.

Are you set?

   Get set.

...

   Are you ready?

- lisa olson & johnny olson

(added 12.20.08)

picture of us

when we were young and beautiful, did we know it?
wild fire in our eyes. we didn't think of being old,
of fine lines forming creases where the smiles burrowed in
and etched their permanent scars and the eyes lost their fire.
we didn't think of surgeries and mammograms and
blood pressure and magnesium and vitamin D and
bad backs and aching hips and retirement funds and
why the hell are we waking up so fucking early. without an alarm.
we thought of cocktails, ecstasy, bliss and
of course the eternal dilemma: what to wear.

when we were young and beautiful we didn't know it.
we wished we were something else- thinner. prettier.
we did not have it in us to say 'i love being this.'
though now we wish we would have.
when we were young and beautiful we didn't know what we know now.
we're learning to love ourselves better than we did,
when we were young and beautiful.
that counts for something, right?
oh the trading, the swapping of this for that, that becomes our reality
we trade our youth for wisdom,
our energy for insight, our restlessness for the solid sense
of living in our own skin, owning our own bodies, knowing our own selves
and liking ourselves way better,
being so much nicer to our still sweet
still tender hearts. growing softer, kinder, older, wiser,

maybe we get to keep the beauty, it just shifts
and evolves into some other kind, of what we didn't have
the experience to recognize as such,
when we were young and beautiful.
i finally know how to love me.
yet there's a rip inside when i look at the picture of us
remembering what was and wishing
i would have taken better care of it all
that i would have stopped, and breathed into the realness of it all
"these are days..." we sang, as if
the whole world revolved around us
and it did, yes it did.
we were reckless. selfish. careless.
when we were young and beautiful.
but i bet someday way out there in a faraway tomorrow
we'll look back at today at our middle-aged today-selves
and sigh ho-hum with an ache in our back, with a sad little smile
and think "oh, when we were young and beautiful..."
but mostly we'll be glad to be here. still here. very here. we are here.
not young. but still so beautiful.

- lisa olson

(added 10.11.08)

is this a poem, then?

words piled
in a stack
pancakes of the mind,
scattered thoughts
in a neat pile.
sensibilities misdirected,
theme uncertain,
eyes on fire
with ideas, allergies.
hungering for food
or love.
coffee untouched
waiting for a
reasonable temp
before i kiss the mug.
is this a poem, then?
is this all that creativity
asks of me? that i
pile words,
arrange chaos
with clickety-clack
finger rhythms,
stack my thoughts
and call myself
a poet?

- lisa olson

Returning and Beginning

Wide awake I rise
hearing the soft whisper
accepting the invitation
to attend the blossoming
of one more sweet day.

so open, so lush
verdant garden of my heart
mystical, magical
painted flowers spilling open
sing to me a lovesong.
"Alas, she has returned!"

My life, my love
my blood a flowing river
my bones sturdy trees
my spirit blooms and sings,
Fragrant and fresh
This is the way.

Inhaling to exhale
breathing out and breathing in.
Holiest of holies,
with welcoming kisses
I am greeted.
She takes me in.

In the wide open space of my potential,
sky is blue and I am golden.
I rise and behold truth and love
in all of its simplistic mysteries
and complicated simplicities.
I am alive and buzzing with possibilities,
fertile and rich, like the soil beneath me.

Basking in the warmth
of my own light, I shine, I glow.
Behind me sways my history
dancing in the breeze of memory.

Before me, destiny beckons
to lovingly coax me into her embrace
to dance, to hold and touch--
"we will create wondrous tomorrows together,
just you wait..."
her promise in my ear
and I am taken,
I am smitten and I will go
where she leads me.

Divine, divine, dancing with mystery
light envelopes me
becomes me;
I run barefoot in tall grass
and I am naked in the sun
and I am holy
and alive.

this body and its spirit-- lovers,
reunited, at last.
at last this heart has found its home.

Passionately I step
into my own godly light.
so bright, so bright
I ignite
and burn toward the future.

- lisa olson


And Now

Now.
Things can be different now.

As the great truth
makes its way to the stage,
unveiling, unmasking, revealing
the spectacular punchline
the grand dichotomy-
oh, it has taken a lifetime
to get to this place
I have been led here to
simply accept this truth:
My Light and my Darkness
shall co-exist
as friends.

As friends?

As friends.

the truth is so fresh, so new
still wet in its birthing blood
still tender and fragile
so gently i embrace it.
i claim it.

Humbly, I take my place in this
arena of graduating fools,
as I move into a new plane,
reduced to a new birth.
Embryonic once more--
my only agenda growth
Sheepishly, I bow to
the god of self-unification.

And now.
Things are different now.

Married are my dualities
A union long overdue
I will no longer judge; I can no longer fight

Can this be? Can it really be so?
With no winners no losers

There is no fight to follow
There is no failure, no defeat
alert the masses- the war has been called off
mid-battle, the forces
not retreating,
only meeting
and greeting
and feeding
one another
drinking one another,
they are both
the best sides of me
now.

A lifetime spent fighting
exhausted, snuffed to nothingness
so that I may be reborn
this feud, so futile,
cost me so much
drained my soul
emptied me out
inside out

And now.
Things are different now.

Ready I stand,
mouth open wide
expectant and ready
to be filled up again
to be satiated
by my own divinity
to be filled
this time with wisdom
instead of rubbish and lies
and empty comforts and
false freedoms.

knowing now

There never was a war,
there never was a battle,
no dragons to slay

the war is over
the sides neutralized
wisdom the glowing prize.

And now.
Things are different now.

- lisa olson


The Gospel According to Me

I used to be a very religious person. Like the obnoxiously alienating-scaring off friends-zealously-fanatical kind of religious.

Then one day, many years ago, I looked at my worn out religion and realized I didn’t want to wear it anymore- it just didn’t fit me anymore- I realized that my religion was full of holes and lies and hypocrisies and inconsistencies and contradictions and judgements and superiority and small-mindedness and exclusion and elitism and I didn’t want it anymore. So I threw it away.

Problem was, I threw the idea of God away with it. Now, years later, I see my faith evolving. I believe in God. In a great big way. There is no religion I claim, no doctrine I subscribe to, really, its quite simple and can be summed up like this. Ready for my religion?

Here it is: God is big. God is Love. God is you and me. God is everywhere and everything and everyone.

That's it, really.

In my redesigned and still developing faith, I'm often caught off guard when someone argues against the existence of God. It surprises me - perplexes me and I want to tell them - just look around. To me its just so fucking obvious, I mean, come on.

So, for those of you that need persuading, or are still on the fence with deciding whether or not god exists, I present to you my thesis.

•EVIDENCE FOR THE CASE
OF THE EXISTENCE OF GOD•

Cellular reproduction, DNA, fingerprints, snowflakes, nectarines, childbirth, a worm's ability to regenerate when torn in half, a caterpillar's transformation and rebirth from the cocoon into its winged and beautiful re-design, science, mathematics, physics, icicles, the intricacies and patterns inside of a tulip or a lily, the sweet perfumed fragrance of a magnolia, a ladybug's painted spots, babies, the human body and all of its divinely designed mechanisms and chemistry and elaborate systems, bird songs, genitals, the body's natural ability to heal itself.

creativity, curiosity, imagination, passion, love, laughter, hope, the unorchestrated but reliably gradual healing of a broken heart or spirit, the amazingly delicate balance of a perfectly structured solar system, cumulus, stratus and sirrus clouds, pink and purple water color sunsets, fire, stars, forests, deserts, oceans, jungles, civilization, evolution, water, space travel, people helping people, technology, embryonic stem cell research, chemotherapy, psychotherapy.

the moon, the ecosystem, the internet, cell phones, airplanes, boats and cars, the zodiac, the strength and valor of the human spirit, intuition, art, music, literature, film, paint, sidewalk chalk, wax sticks that you can color with that come in every single color you can imagine, and some you didn't, insects, rainbows, that inside each pear seed exists a pear tree and countless pears, human compassion, diversity, color, texture, taste, smell, the power of touch, wildflowers that nobody even planted but they grow anyway.

sleep, dreams, fantasies, the miraculous and mysterious workings of weather, the secret universes that exist underwater, in a bee hive, in dirt, in a puddle, in the human body, in an ant hill, in a scrotum, in a high school, in a toenail.

free will, forgiveness, grace, coincidence, happenstance, serendipity, synchronicity, fate, destiny, man's ability to walk upright when he wants to, or just lay around if we prefer, freshwater pearls, diamonds, gems, mangos, avocados, olives, tomatoes, herbs, spices, cannabis, venus flytraps, dragonflys, the human brain, the human face, the human heart, ticklish places, goosebumps, hot sex, orgasms, the ability to bring oneself to orgasm without any help, love, mortality, immortality, medicine, magic, miracles, mysteries, and the innate human desire to solve them.

To me, its clearly evident, if not obvious, that god is real and present and actively involved; evidence exists everywhere and anywhere, if you choose to see it. I mean really, I could go on and on and on. If you're not convinced yet, I wonder if you ever will be.

- lisa olson


Sacrilegious Consecration

With sheepish reservation
approaching faith with hesitation
I send this flaccid invocation
to a god i think is on vacation
to repair my cracked foundation
and reschedule my dream cancellation

With pathetic resignation,
my natural gravitation
toward shadowy flirtation
distracts me from my own stagnation...

self-induced complications
settling for superficial sensations -
self medication
causing frightening palpitations
and quickly fleeting jubilation
and a loss of concentration
and manic masturbation

I’m just looking for a good vibration
Instead, I am a new mutation
so far from my original station
unfazed by my own damnation
I suffer, in this separation,
of hunger and of dehydration.
Save me from my reputation
Give me life and elevation.
I want non-toxic levitation

With such shallow aspirations
can i live in moderation?

I'll settle even for the
mere scent of inspiration.
Until then shall I resume
my pending detonation?
My holy desecration
and soul suffocation,
Stumbling in my isolation?

Disconnected from all
blood relations
an orphan by causation
I resent the implication.
though I admit the connotation.

Yet really, this is all just speculation.
Am I a product of my generation
Are my demons just figments
of an overactive imagination?
Or am I seriously inflicted
with emotional retardation?

- lisa ohhh


Experiment in Poetic Disparity

I tried to write a poem
That didn’t speak of pain
Or passion unbridled
Or the rawness of desire
To my surprise
It felt like lies
Like dry
Like empty words
Like perversion
Of the dullest kind

Kisses with no tongue
Scissors that would not cut
A razor that only pinkens the skin
tingling, numbing. Laughable.
Pretending to slice
Pretending to mark
in weak silly lines
across my heaving, empty chest.
a joke making fun of itself,
a loose leaf of innocent paper,
defaced and deflowered,
defiled by my muck and waste of ink.

"I tried to be a poem"
She said;
Blushing of embarrassment
Staring at the floor…
"But you gave me nothing
To work with
Gave me nothing
to feel with
Gave me nothing
to say"

And she despised me
For her premature birth
For the unlikely
unwilling
unimportant
insignificant
nonreminiscent
existence that I had
forced her into--
words on paper
nothing more, nothing more.
twisting and pulling her out of me
with the forceps of mockery
She wept empty tears.
I laughed empty jeers.

A premature ejaculation of the soul
"You always climax too soon," she said
and shook her head.
"Why can’t you see? Some of us
are trying
to be poetry."

I tried to write a poem
That didn’t speak of pain
Or passion unbridled
Or the rawness of desire
But nothing came,
nothing came.

Nothing worth anything,
at least.

l. olson


Umbilical Noose

Oh mother,
dear mother
is the cord ever cut?
Do you have any idea
the time I've spent on you?
Distant daughter
sheep to slaughter
I ask for nothing--
and nothing is granted

In your dreams
I am always twelve
Those were the abandonment days-
funny you should capture
me in your mind's photography
chubby pre-teen
awkward breasts and uncertain
features

You never really taught me how
to love myself
but somehow I managed to learn
on my own

We never really know what the other's
thinking
You proudly count the days spent
not drinking
In an empty life of
Judge Judy and friends
And cigarette burns on
dirty sheets

You don’t talk of your cat anymore
I wonder if he has settled
down or if he is gone

I show you itsy bitsy
glimpses of who I am
shards of
light escape from under
my basket,
you catch them and dismiss them,
choosing not to see
the me
I am- in me a reflection
of the me YOU could have been

The cord is never cut,
it is wrapped around my neck
I struggle for breath
and yearn with
childish love for mommy.

- l. olson

Saga

Orphan martyr misses her mother,
poor-poor, poor-poor me.
As the martyr, I lay down my life and tell
the same damned story
to anyone who'll listen- or anyone I want to
KNOW me- the "Behind the Music" version Me

I'm tired of my own saga
I'm tired of hearing myself tell the same shocking stories
I'm so tired of repeated
Disappointments and paper cut stings of
memories I never got
to live
and forgiveness I have yet to give. I will write my story upon your heart
or your back
or where ever you will let me leave my mark

And I will not apologize
nor tell you lies,
while you try to analyze
My truth is stranger than fiction
I am the WOUNDED ONE who
BOUNCED back
from adversity
"Ma, LOOK AT ME!"

I've got empty pockets and a song and a dance
I'll give to any passerby who pretends to care
cause how can you KNOW me- the TRUE me,
the E! True Hollywood Story Me with poignant
music and too many commercials
and a recap after
every break.

Would anyone like a piece of me?
samples are free.
would you like to taste my pain?
If you miss it this time, come back for the encore, playing at 6,8 and 10.
The Super-Orphan-Martyr-Survivor-Daughter--
Ooooh! She is so strong!

- l. olson


A Beautiful Mess

How am I, you ask?
How am I, in the “fine-how-are-you” way or do you really want to know,
cause if you really, truly, sincerely want to know, I’ve warned you...
I’m an open book, I’m a messy drawer, I’m an unfinished portrait
in womanhood; I’m a beautiful mess.
Nothing is certain, nothing is sure, nothing is right, yet. but yet is nothing more than hope, yet is only hoping in something that may or may not come and i may or may not find my way out of this. my bangs are too long, but if they’re not too long, they’re too short, they’re only just right for a day or so and I’m here and I don’t know why, I don’t know what I’m supposed to learn from this great big beautiful mess. My insides are askew, my ass is growing wider, my reflection isn’t impressing me lately and I’m stuck inside and days go by when i don’t even shave my legs, and I think i heard that’s a sign of depression and I’m empty inside but full of myself and why is that a bad thing;am I good or bad? Do I really have to be one or the other? So do you really want to know how I am, or should I just say “fine-how-are-you”?

- l. olson

(untitled)

The sweet sweet taste of your lips intoxicates me, sends me
Reeling, feelin' stealing
Kisses here and kisses there and I'm DRUNK
On the scent
of your hair
This longing burns like fire, out of control
And I cant wait
To have you
And be completely
Entirely
And wholly
Had
By you.
Cause when the push comes to shove
And longing feels like love
And dirty feels so pure
Its then you know for sure, it's sexuality
Sexual, sexual
Sexuality.
Don't be afraid, just let yourself go
One kiss one touch one fuck and you'll know
Its your sexuality calling
So come out and play
Its your divine birthright to feel this way
I taste I touch I breathe you in
My fingers lightly tracing the creases of your skin
And this attraction tastes so sweet
This affection this fire this burning desire
We need not worry of right and wrong
Good and evil
Heaven and hell
Cuz here, in this moment
All lines are erased
All labels removed. The rules don't apply
Here, in this moment.
We're naked
And holy
and pure
Just like the day we were born.
If this pleasure wasn't meant to be
Would our tongues intertwined taste so heavenly
Would breasts against breasts move so gracefully?
Mother nature knew what she was doin'
To make you so delicious to me
Mother nature knew what she was doin'
Cuz kissing you's like kissing me
And I can please YOU like I please myself
I know a thing or two about YOUR thing or two
I promise I will touch you right
Like I touch myself every night.
So dive right in
The water's warm
But stay out of the deep end baby,
Unless you know how to swim
This longing burns like fire, out of control
And I can't wait to have you
And to be completely
So sweetly
Entirely
On-firely
Divine-ly
And finally
Had by you.

-lisa olson

untitled

I believe we are born sexual. Sexuality is as instinctual as eating and breathing. From a very early age, we are conditioned, though, to repress it. We learn about sex from stealing peeks at necking teenagers and playing risky exploration games with neighborhood kids in the shed. We play with sex by testing our boundaries, sampling...we feel aroused and don’t understand why. We orgasm without knowing what an orgasm is (whatever that was, it sure felt good!) We learn from our sexuality as much as we learn about it. We get hurt, we get used, we get taken, we get STDs or pregnancy scares. We learn. We grow. We eventually learn that sex is not dirty or sinful. We learn to please ourselves. We learn to please others. We learn to accept who we are sexually. And not be ashamed. And not be afraid to be sexual. We then learn that sexuality can come in all shapes and sizes, all kinds of things, places, scents, feelings, situations. Sexuality can be found in a slowly smoked cigarette, or a dance or a smile. Sexuality can be found in the texture and sweet flavor of a ripened strawberry. Sexuality can even transcend gender, to its raw, spiritual core; two souls, strongly magnetized towards each other. We embrace our sexuality then, proudly, without shame, or regrets. Without anger. We can accept our sexuality with soft open arms, warm breast and open heart. And in the process, accept ourselves.

- l. olson


Gray

feeling gray today. feeling like lukewarm soup, like a crayon whose tip has been colored down to the paper. feeling cloudy with a chance of rain. i’m a gooey piece of gum hardening under the table. i’m a forgotten love letter in an old dusty box. i’m a strand of Christmas lights burned out, yet still hanging
uselessly on the tree. i’m feeling gray today. feeling like yesterday’s newspaper left on the cold porch, in the rain, soggy with all the ink blending into itself, illegible and messy. i’m a watch with its battery starting to lag behind, minutes off at first, then all of a sudden, hours. feeling like a cat locked out of the house meowing to be let in. i’m an old weathered paperback book, it’s cover held on with tape, sitting on the bookshelf, waiting, waiting to be read. read me.
i’m feeling gray today.

- l. olson


Coming to Terms

Here is my heart, take it please, it is hazardous to my health and it only seems to complicate my life. I remember you, I remember me, when things were so different, so free. Now things are cluttered, things are jumbled and I long for the clarity of what once was. You’re sitting there so nonchalant as if none of this is happening. Maybe you’re onto something, maybe you’re the smart one, the strong one. It’s probably so, since you are there all smug in your spot, the same spot, and I am just pieces, broken parts of what used to be whole.
It’s better now, though, coming to terms, and I begin to feel less; less intensely, less profoundly, and less is more, they say.
I remember you, do you remember me? I really don’t think you do. This is all you see, all you know and I want to scream. I want to cry, because once upon a time we belonged, and it felt right and its been so long since it’s felt right, so long that feeling wrong is what feels right now. I wish I could be like you, so simple that the complications of our lives don’t even touch you, don’t even come near you and you can still pretend, I wish I could pretend like you.
But I’m the one coming to terms. You’re just sitting there so nonchalant.
Here is my heart, take it please, at least just for a while, so you could feel how it feels to feel, like me.

- l. olson


The Final Unraveling

There are mites in my head, there are bugs in my bed and they’re eating away at my brain, and god,
the burn
the burn
the BURN is causing so much pain.
I kick I spit I bang my head to get the monsters out of me
but those fuckers are in my urethra now, they only come out when I pee.
I hear the Man, he says to FIGHT and so I do as I‘m told
and that fucking nurse can’t stop me now, regardless of her restraining hold
and I am done, I’m over now, my credits are rolling on the screen and when I close my eyes I see my mother’s rubbery tits hanging over me.
Do you remember mama’s tits? I think you do, you scum
for no one ever touched my Soul the way my mama’s titties hung.
Everyone here is one of Them, they’ll stop at nothing to get their revenge and I can’t fight it, I can’t hide it, they’re taking over, I’m over, I’m done
and in my bed I moan and cry and pray for Christ to come.

- l. olson


I've Been Thinking...

I want to live my life better. I’ve been thinking a lot about what my life is becoming and how fast it’s moving and I want to slow it down a little.
I want to appreciate more, feel more, I want to be more, see more, taste more. I want to be able to look back on it all, when I‘m done, and think I’ve lived my life well. I’m trying to connect more, to connect with people, with feelings, with experiences. To not take things for granted. All the wonderful people in my life, all the not-so-wonderful people. They’re in my life for a reason. Why? What can I learn from this feeling, this day, this very moment? I always feel good that I have a lot to offer people in knowing me. But what can people offer me? What could knowing that asshole at work offer me? Can I know myself a little better by knowing this person? Can I understand that he’s an asshole because he didn’t get enough hugs when he was a little boy, and now, as a grown-up doesn’t get any hugs at all? What can knowing the neighbor across the hall offer me? What can I learn from this life?
I’m starting to realize that for as much as I’ve learned, there’s still so much I need to figure out. I’m starting to believe that my soul has been here before. Not this life, not these circumstances, but in this world, and I’m in this life now because my soul has lessons to learn from it before I can move to the next level of Knowing. I read somewhere that the reason we’ve had the painful experiences we’ve had in this life is because our souls needed to learn from them. The reason my parents were so caught up in their own pain and misery, too caught up to really nurture me the way I needed is because what my Soul really needed was to learn to nurture itself. The reason I’ve given birth to this amazing little girl is to learn how precious life is, to learn how to nurture, how to truly give to another person, with no strings attached, in my own hands molding her future feelings about herself, her future hopes and dreams.

I’ve been thinking about happiness. It’s not something I attain- “if only I get that promotion, I’ll be happy”; “If I just get that published, I’d definitely be happy”; “I just need a vacation- then I’ll be happy” It’s not about that, because once you have the “it”, then what? Happiness is something I have to create, inside me, it’s not something I’m going to find in the outside world. And when it’s all said and done, what will really matter? Everything in this world is superficial. Items, possessions, none of these things, in the long run, really matter. I’m learning that what really matters are the feelings, the love, the relationships, the impact your life has had on someone else’s, the things you will leave behind have nothing to do with actual things. Learning these things is helping me live my life better. I’m finally picking up on these Life Lessons (who knows how long my Soul’s been at it?) and this Life School is educating me in ways I’ve never dreamed of. I’m becoming an expert on Me.

- l.olson