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Olanna's Perfect Sonnets

Posts tagged poetry

11 notes

Writing Sample For A Position at a Greeting Card Company

This man makes me feel more loved than I ever could have imagined. We will soon claim two years together, and I love him just as madly, passionately, and deeply as I did in those first weeks of falling hopelessly in love. Plus, while not as often as in the beginning, he still writes me beautiful poetry, so I figure I’ll keep him around. :) 

pedanticpersiflage:

For Leslie

You’re so beautiful
that it makes me
want to write
the kind of
sappy sentimental
hacky Hallmark card
poetry that starts with
phrases like
You’re so beautiful.

You’re so beautiful
that it makes me
want to further my
sentimental crimes
with goo goo ga ga guns
that rat-a-tat repeat
each stanza’s
beginning and end
with refrains like
You’re so beautiful.

You’re so beautiful
that I don’t think I
could possibly calculate
a limit to the magnitude
in which your
soul sparkles
in the reflection of light
in your deep brown eyes
when you stare at me
wanting me
to say more
things to you like
You’re so beautiful.

You’re so beautiful
that you are beautiful—
like the word beautiful,
or at least the image
that the sound of the
word beautiful creates
when I look at the symbol,
beautiful, on the page,
is an image of you
that makes me
want to tell you
You’re so beautiful.

You’re so beautiful
that I’ve used the word
beautiful 14 times now,
including just now,
if you’re counting
like I am,
because as the time
that we’ve spent together
grows like the word count
in a novel in progress,
that moves like
a struggle between
wanting to know the ending
and enjoying the wordplay
of the present page,
and always worth the
eye-straining late night effort,
I’ve found a way to fuse
my two passions
because when I say
beautiful out loud
and see my internal picture
of your face, it’s
semiotics like sex,
and the release is
getting to tell you
one more time
how much
You’re so beautiful.

Filed under poetry poem pedanticpersiflage spilled ink beautiful

26 notes

Beautiful

I admittedly neglected writing pretty much all of 2013, but this was the one with the most notes for the year. Here’s to promising to write more in 2014. 

olanna:

I saw my reflection
in the steam fogged mirror
for the first time in 
what seemed like years, 
 
mostly because 
I didn’t avoid eye contact
with myself the way 
I don’t even notice 
anymore that I do 
 
until I notice.
 
I saw my face and
I noticed my wrinkles,
how when I’m relaxed
my brow is permanently furrowed
and my laugh lines are faint,
 
the crow’s feet now deeper
than the skin under my eyes
that hasn’t felt taut 
in too long to care
 
but my eyes are brighter 
than I can remember possible
and my lips are soft with use
 
my skin bears traces 
of your fingertips that
only I can see 
 
and I feel beautiful. 

-Olanna, 2013 

 

Filed under poetry poem creative writing spilled ink olanna 2013

8 notes

Mental Health 101

It’s that urge to crawl in bed
and sleep for eternity, 
the familiar lump in my throat 
and pain between my breasts,

it’s the cabernet sauvignon
so deliciously sweet on my tongue
and the self-awareness
that I am not strong enough. 

I am loved, 
but I am not strong enough. 

I have never known how
to ask for help, 
or to admit that I needed it. 

-Olanna, 2013

 

Filed under poem poetry creative writing spilled ink olanna

8 notes

In Those Brief Moments

Sometimes there is a point
or maybe it’s a line
or a ledge, 
a precipice on which I stand
teetering, but not falling.
The air tastes like giving up
or going over and I inhale
deeply, slowly.

The empty echoing
of my thoughts, 
or attempts at writing
it all down,
the comfort of solitude
the only way I know 
to calm my brain
and remember me.

because over that edge, 
beyond that point and 
across that line, 
I remember how much
I used to love
being alone and
sometimes
I miss it. 

-Olanna, 2013

 

Filed under poem poetry creative writing spilled ink olanna

5 notes

Higher Road

I always wondered if 
I was the kind of girl
who didn’t like other girls 
out of insecurity
or jealousy or if
there was something deeper, 
some complicated daddy issue
that even I couldn’t see. 

I called you best friend
when there were no others
for so many years, 
I know your secrets, 
you know almost 
all of mine, 
but that didn’t stop you 
from the weakness
that permeated you, 
from breaking our hearts. 

We saw you in the grocery store. 
I think about you all the time. 
I had two seconds to decide. 

I missed your daughter 
more than you, 
so for her, 
I went with the more
civil approach. 

-Olanna, 2013

Filed under poem poetry creative writing spilled ink olanna

7 notes

Not Olanna

My name is not Olanna. 

One hundred twenty-seven clicks
of the name randomizer 
produced one that clicked 
with me, a name to represent 
the virtual me in a virtual world
of ancient lore and bloody wars,

a name befit a mighty warrior,
beauty hidden beneath the plate, 
Olanna grew strong and powerful
and I, finding escape and 
solidarity across vast expanses
of land and water, 
found a way to become 
someone else. 

My name is not Olanna
and I liked to tell stories
but I did not like to share them, 

private thoughts and personal 
disclosures meant for anyone’s
ears but theirs, then I found
a different breed of people 
who were unabashed and brave 
and embracing of words
so Olanna I continued to be,
a pen name, alias, means of
anonymity. 

My name is not Olanna
but it’s still a name I can’t 
seem to shake. 

Perhaps it has become 
something so familiar
I would miss it if it were gone, 
another piece of me named 
and chiseled in stone,
or a lingering fear of
discovery by someone 
other than those granted 
entry into the deepest parts of me 
deliberately, 
an unnecessary dread 
that only remains 
out of habit or maybe
just for old time’s sake. 

-Olanna, 2013

 

Filed under poetry poem creative writing spilled ink olanna

95 notes

Sets

pedanticpersiflage:

Scientists will point out how
technically, we never touch
like magnets pushing and pulling
on forces they hardly understand.

When I was inside of you,
I was only inside of your atomic
forcefield, inside of invisibility,
like the words we whisper

to each other, “I love you
more than words can possibly
express” when “words can possibly
express” expresses “a whole

fucking lot” in a language
that moves like electrons
and feels like your lips
pressed against my chest.

The best boyfriend ever wrote me another poem.

Filed under mhilbig poetry featured spilled ink

6 notes

Balancing Act

I wonder if this is what it felt like
for you 
when I was married
to him,

looking in from the outside,
fresh set of eyes
unclouded by fables of love
and apologies,

seeing through the promises
and conveniently timed 
one-eighty degree turn-arounds
(however temporary)

while balancing the feelings
and confidence
of that one you love so much
but can’t speak the truth to. 

Such a powerless feeling, 
how did you do it?

-Olanna, 2013

 

Filed under poetry poem creative writing spilled ink olanna

6 notes

Fairy Tale Endings

Once upon a time 
I needed to be alone. 
I claimed it gave me 
what little sanity 
I could claim. 
I grew irritable in its absence. 
I wrote in its embrace. 

Once upon a time 
I thought I’d lost my words,
or just my sadness,
in return for finding 
your love. 

Once upon a time 
I recognized that look on your face
that meant you had an idea,
and I knew you would write 
and I loved that I knew you 
that well by now. 

Once upon a time 
I wasn’t quite sure 
what happiness meant
but it didn’t really matter 
anymore.  

 

Filed under poetry poem creative writing spilled ink olanna

5 notes

Perfect

It’s that space where
your arm meets your shoulder, 
where my head rests perfectly 
and my lips reach just below your chin,

it’s the sound of smiling
that is immeasurable yet 
warms your insides 
in the most pleasant of ways,

and it’s the way that I can 
imagine forever
when you declare  
“I’m gonna marry you someday.” 

-Olanna, 2013

 

Filed under poetry poem creative writing spilled ink olanna

9 notes

Raped

They said witnesses had mistaken
her blood for a red dress 
covering her naked and bruised body
-there was so much-
as she stumbled into the 
movie theater parking lot
in the northwest corner, 
our corner, 
of metropolitan suburbia
last Thursday night
as the late show let out. 

I wondered her name, 
withheld by local media,
and grade level, a sophomore
or junior at sixteen, 
I wondered if she was black or white
or brown or yellow, 
I wondered if she was beautiful 
before she’d been dressed in that gown
by that unidentified man
and I wondered if she’d survive. 

But mostly I just wondered
how I was supposed 
to keep my own daughter safe. 

-Olanna, 2013

Filed under poetry poem creative writing spilled ink olanna

26 notes

Beautiful

I saw my reflection
in the steam fogged mirror
for the first time in 
what seemed like years, 
 
mostly because 
I didn’t avoid eye contact
with myself the way 
I don’t even notice 
anymore that I do 
 
until I notice.
 
I saw my face and
I noticed my wrinkles,
how when my face is relaxed
my brow is permanently furrowed
and my laugh lines are faint,
 
the crow’s feet now deeper
than the skin under my eyes
that hasn’t felt taut 
in too long to care
 
but my eyes are brighter 
than I can remember possible
and my lips are soft with use
 
my skin bears traces 
of your fingertips that
only I can see 
 
and I feel beautiful. 

-Olanna, 2013 


Filed under poetry poem creative writing spilled ink olanna