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Olivia Schmidt Poem
She wished she could scream
as loud as possible
but she has to be lady like
so that’s not plausible
She needs to wear her hair up
and look presentable
though not too much
she can’t be unbearable
Can’t speak too loud
She might look like a clown.
Though not too quiet
She can’t be seen as defiant.
She went college as long as them
Four years,a whole presidential term
Only to be seen as a counterpart
Inserted at the end of construction
To leave junk on, a bottle or two
To be disregarded with a rag
And left for another day or few
because to them
her say is just a suggestion
not something to be digested.
Even though she made sure it wouldn’t cause congestion
She’ll try, again and again
through fail and trial
making sure to keep her head up high through denial
She won’t stop until she can be seen as More than just some child
She accomplished so much
As ancestors have before her
women suffrage wasn’t just something to hide in a corner
so she’ll keep her head up
through the thick and thin
Like how her great grandmothers fought for women back then
So they could have a voice
Through hardships faced
At the same status of men and next of kin
Copyright © Olivia Schmidt | Year Posted 2024
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Olivia Schmidt Poem
pomegranates aren’t messy.
there quite a few
who don’t have a clue
of how to handle the delicate fruit
so it doesn’t spew
They take one look
And determine its some type of crook
don’t even take a moment
To observe its unique tidiness
They take a spoon
And don’t wait to gut it
To make it messy
And leave it until it’s uncleanly
they don’t take the time
Out of their lives
To hold it steady
And make sure it’s ready
They take and take
The red color staining their fingers
They wipe it on a towel, maybe a few
Going on with their day
Still not having a clue
Pomegranates aren’t messy
your poetry just sucks
Because if you take
What one offers
You’ll see it’s unique tidiness
One it rewards to those who
Don’t rush
And take the time out of their lives
To hold it relentlessly
So no, pomegranate aren’t messy
They just need to be handled gently.
Copyright © Olivia Schmidt | Year Posted 2025
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Olivia Schmidt Poem
Our children are awake.
When will you let them sleep?
Saying all they want are just silly dreams
suggesting they keep quiet
and go to sleep while you deal with the poorly guided
naive adolescents corrupted by distress
when will you see them as more, instead of less?
Providers are worried, and guardians are stumped
how will we ever grow out of this construct?
scripted from here, some taken from there
we’re not a collective we just put most things in gear
can we get past this made up illusion
That what we’re doing will never end in an conclusion?
We come together over and over, trying to heal with mass exposure
but we’re suppose to be asleep.
Aren’t we suppose to keep quiet?
Can we really solve this by keeping our youth in silence?
How long will you be in this stump?
How long can we keep this up?
Whatever, we’ll go back to the board
Hoping to find some peace
Even though we know people like you can’t even see
voting for who you see fit
The person with “the best last name” that could carry on quiet
that continues to harbor your observed violence
one that we don’t wanna any part in
Why does it matter to us so much?
When all we’ve supposedly done is proven we don’t do well with much?
When all we’re doing is trying to crumble the walls you’ve built
left behind from our fathers.
Never washed away by our mothers
but then again we’re suppose to be asleep
so we’ll keep quiet.
delete our posts and vote for violence
take our pride and leave it behind
because mothers knows best, always worked with time
we’ll close our mouths and hope for tomorrow
walls still lingering the same question is yet to be answered
when can we go to sleep?
We know you barley know where we’ll be next week
but then again we are suppose to keep quiet
We’re trying so hard to look beyond violence
Waiting for the time we’re recognized as more of a solution, and less of an allusion.
But wait.
Aren’t we all suppose to be asleep.
We’re not to wonder where we’ll be in a week
we’ll keep our mouths quiet, even though we know we won’t like it
trying hard to forget that we’ve been left without positive guidance
maybe we’ll try to sleep.
lay our heads on ours pillows
some red some blue
over our wordless thoughts that we dare not spew
with one last question we slowly lower our heads.
One thought left we so often dread
tell us
tell us
tell us
When can we finally go to bed?
Copyright © Olivia Schmidt | Year Posted 2024
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