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Literature Text
Excuse me?
Yes, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you.
Who am I? Well, I'm a lot of people,
but most of all,
I'm you.
And today I've come
knocking on your door
to inform you
your life is in pieces!
You push away everyone you love,
just to shield them from yourself.
But ma'am, save your tears!
There's more to this depressing story!
Everything you do is terrible!
That's what they tell you, right?
And you believe it?
Well, I sure would, too.
Oh, what are those scratches on your arms,
if you don't mind me asking,
ma'am?
Your cat did it?
Sure seems believable.
But is it the truth?
Tell me.
Well, it's seems your time is running short.
You know that, don't you?
You know you're at the boiling point.
But you don't care,
do you?
You're done.
You're giving up.
Aren't you, ma'am?
Literature
faded smiles and lost hopes
she's never alone but
you cannot taste loneliness.
and (she dissolves)
she'll smile sadly when you name her atlas,
because you forgot she carries suffering not hope.
(you forgot everything she had to give up,
you forgot to shoulder some of the weight,
youforgot,youforgot,youforgot,youforgot).
[repeat it, repeat it, repeat it and
listen to her bones crack.]
you cannot claim something you never had;
she held everyone but
no one
held
her.
[she's slipping through your fingers.]
take her gently by the wrist,
but it is too late.
(she shatters at the lightest touch).
Literature
twenty / something
growing up means :
bird metaphors are becoming trite / i must no longer write
about leaving the nest but decide where i can find a place to build.
like this we all pay our rents. i think about Franklin and his taxes
/ skull collector / his eventual place in the dirt / a nest of paper : currency
of misappropriated quotes.
i return home / find my poster of Che folded into tablecloth /
critical theory textbooks mothballed into the ivory of closet.
/ by home : i mean nest / or conjugal remembrance.
when i dream anymore, it’s about equity / fringe benefi
Literature
A burden, curse
I’m coming back from a few rough months, and here is my first offering. A piece about my bipolar and anxiety disorder.
She cursed herself silently, like
a prayer that can only be said
in the shadows, without other
people hearing—“fuck you, you've
wasted everything, let down
everyone, you deserve this.”
Like this, she doesn’t condemn
herself, she burns for herself,
lights her skeleton on fire, ignites
her mind with the what ifs and
should have beens, all of it.
She is standing, resolute, feet
apart, a sure stance, she is sure
to break down, her elbows will
crush at the weight of all her
inhibitions, her lungs wil
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I didn't mean for it to be this long. 
I took an idea and ran with it. Maybe a little too far.
Isn't that right, ma'am?
I took an idea and ran with it. Maybe a little too far.Isn't that right, ma'am?
© 2013 - 2024 oliviacolomar
Comments6
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Interesting poem. It makes me think of the Devil taunting someone he's about to take.