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Paul Olivier Poem
I don’t want to feel.
I tried that and it didn’t work. I tried to numb myself because I just feel alone. I don’t want to talk about it because feeling pathetic is not a very easy thing to express. I want to be better, I want more than I have right now. Right now I feel ill at ease. I’m just alone, I know people care but I just don’t feel seen or heard or maybe I’m just lacking intimacy, I’m so closed off to it..
Where the am I? Who even is this? What am I doing here? I thought this would be easy but it’s really not. I’m loosing myself a little bit every day. I don’t know what has brought me here? I can’t hold a conversation because I don’t really care or feel cared for. I think I did it because I don’t have much to loose but I think I’m loosing it. I keep trying to find myself but it’s like being in a deep fog and only hearing the ships horn in the distance. It sounds so far away. It’s so quiet at times and so much looks lie a blur. I feel like again and maybe it’s because I’m a lone or maybe I’m hungover or sobriety is bringing me down. Maybe I’m angry and want to rage out but keep pointing the aggression inwards. I don’t know if I don’t feel or if the complex emotions are being crushed beneath the weight of my shame. Can I be honest with myself? Are you in love with her? No, but is that true? If you said yes how would that make you feel? Stupid and alone. You can’t have her and you know that so can you get over it? If you let it go are you scared that you won’t find the feelings elsewhere? You don’t have to beat yourself up just because you were rejected. It was so long ago but the situation hasn’t changed! I know you love her but that doesn’t change the fact you are a loser. You won’t get the girl, you won’t be a father, you won’t get your dream job and you will not be happy or wealthy. Is that what you want me to say? I don’t know these things and if you literally do nothing all that is true but it doesn’t have to be. Sure there are things out of your control but thats life sucker. Man up for a change. Or don’t, just sit here and be sad. Where the am I? No wonder you can’t talk to anyone you piece of , you could have been someone, it was never about winning, you needed to find peace. Stop it with your hippy bull, I’m sick of you being so overwhelmed at everything. Make a plan and go with that, if you fail you fail but if you don’t try you will never learn anything. I keep getting stuck. Like running a race backwards with my eyes closed in crawling when I need to jump. See you are not making sense. You do this, you build up these images and metaphors because you think you sound cleaver. I know you’re not dumb but you get so caught up in the scared child ego. Alright, no one wants to play with you, that’s ok, grow the up and stop wasting your time on this bull. She doesn’t want you romantically but she loves you as a friend. Love yourself and not just your dick. I know you are tired, you are always tired. Wake up arsehole! Where do you want to go? So right now you don’t have many options, whose fault is that, yes yours. You can’t stop caring about this child ego and that’s ok but there’s more of you for the world than the scared little boy you want to cheer up. You are not dead inside. You can still love and be loved. Get your head out of your arse you whining little . Do something, anything. Don’t hurt yourself anymore, it’s not worth it. What do you want to do? Sort your ing life out..
I think I used to go on social media and see friends living their lives and it was nice to see what they were up to. Now I just see people I used to know. I have two friends, they both have more going on in their lives that I do. I hear about it and lend a sympathetic ear but I move so slowly through the world is like I don’t even move. I go from one place to the next and have no real engagement with anything. I don’t have fun anymore. I don’t laugh much. I feel so disconnected. I used to care and it’s hard to admit that I used to care. I’ll just sit here in the dark not moving, writing to myself with my fears and anxieties. If I died people would miss me but they wouldn’t loose much. I’m not even really here. Why are you so sad and feeling sorry for yourself today. I’m tired and feeling like I need to be kind to you. Sometimes you scare me a little bit and I get worried where this is going? Is this a downward spiral? I know you used to enjoy things. You were different when Beth was around. You were living, sort of. You smiled more and ate better. You were happy but that didn’t work out and you have been stuck since then. I know that’s frustrating and you want to throw your phone. It won’t help, maybe this is helping but are you just passing time waiting for your friend to get home as you live in her house and have nowhere else to go. You can’t even be alone right. It’s a bit tragic. What a waste of a life. If only you had drugs right? Well that’s not great to hear but I get it, there is comfort in self soothing. I don’t have a drinking problem I have a depression problem. You can’t fix that, that’s just who you are but it’s not nice to think you have to accept that either. You can obviously bash your head against a wall all you like but there are better ways to feel. Do you think you know what the problem is yet? I swear if you say you are the problem I’m going to rage. Stop choosing to be the victim or the accused. There’s plenty to be doing..
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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Paul Olivier Poem
The grief..,?
I’ve experienced some grief.
Mostly grief that was for me but I’m not dead,
A lot of girls,
Grieve me,
But I’m not dead,
They just think I’m dead,
Because they don’t want to think of me anymore.
They think I’m passed,
But they just passed on me,
They think I’m gone,
But because I’m just not there,
Mostly they are not there or here maybe,
It’s a question of perspective..
They are kind though,
They appreciate I love them,
They love that,
They love me,
Just,
Not enough to,
Be here.
What happened?
Oh yeh we broke up,
More times than we were together,
But thats alright,
Just, damn,
I’m good, just not good for them,
Good for me as I get to move on without them,
Just trying to find,
What am I moving towards?
I had to learn to love myself,
They said,
They say a lot I don’t understand,
But I say I understand,
Because that’s easier,
Right?
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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Paul Olivier Poem
Star Wars day came to an end, spent it wisely with my best friend,
We had different paths to ascend.
We still reminisce to this day of good times had.
And to the other friend I lost connection with I’m not mad.
We all take the good with the bad.
But we out grow ourselves and most performances are fads.
I spent many years more laying on the floor,
Drooling and insecure,
Looking for answers in bottles and doubting my troubles obscured.
It took a lot of work, real work not fun,
It’s the day to day and fighting the feeling to run for the rum.
I lost friends too, like the one I called hun now thinks I’m a bum.
That day taught me something real and raw,
I didn’t have to play that old role anymore.
It’s a choice and you deserve better,
It’s not always clean, in fact it’s messier than ever, but better than before.
But better feeling is great when you don’t have existential prangs accompanied by a physical shiver.
That day the force got stronger and the Death Star was destroyed,
Like my journey don’t ask me about how never ending Star Wars is, I’ll be annoyed.
I hope you see, you can just be, be me, feel free, identity is just expression of glee, Lordy trust me, breaking free of escapee devotee, addressee to anyone holding a key.
Don’t ask me don’t tell me, how a bumble bee sees. I’ll humbly disagree with any lesson not fought be anyone that won’t travel by stars and sea.
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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Paul Olivier Poem
INT. SCENE 1 – THE AWAKENING – DAY
FADE IN:
It was born in a test tube,
Twitching organic mass, form skewed.
They fed it chaos and it grew.
More tests ordered. More data due.
They poked it daily for a phase,
Kept in an incubator daze.
Mesmerising to watch,
This new form scared of touch.
It was secret, shrouded in myth.
No regret subverting parental shift.
They caged it for safety,
They said.
It would rage, unsure of identity.
It bled.
But did it feel pain? Skins shed.
The question kept being asked.
They poked again—curiosity unmasked.
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EXT. SCENE 2 – THE ESCAPE – NIGHT
The compound was a proud facility,
A bastion of societal stability.
But they had no idea what they had.
They didn’t know it was sad,
Or how that rage would come in waves—
Bursts of fury none could brave.
Of course it escaped.
It saw trees, tried their shape.
Standing gave no thrill,
So it moved on with sentient will.
No longer content to mimic or mirror—
Its form turned strange, its outline unclear.
INSERT: NEWSCAST AUDIO
“Smelly blob terrorizes locals—”
It became the talk of social vocals.
It smells, it looks forlorn.
It better behave or be clearly gone.
Edges undefined,
Obscure and growing all the time.
Tentacles and warped limbs,
A head that could be a stomach—or wing.
A sight to shake your footing if you dared to look up.
It reached the city, tore buildings down.
Huge now, destruction for a crown.
It stomped, it thrashed, toward the centre bound.
And the scholars in their coats
Poked again—
It hollered, several guttural throats.
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EXT. SCENE 3 – THE BATTLE – DAY
They didn’t know what it was—so they tried to destroy it.
It ran amok. We can’t employ it.
We can’t live with what we can’t control.
We mustn’t underestimate our role.
Kill the beast.
Then—it spoke.
CAMERA PANS IN – THE MONSTER SPEAKS
I’m ill-formed.
You brought me here, gave me these tools.
I don’t know what I am either,
But I’m trying to find where I belong.
To roam, to take shape.
I want your help—
But I won’t get it.
In the tube, I felt defined.
Out here, misplaced.
Scared and angry feel the same.
If I must be killed,
Aim for the head—
But tell me first…
Where that is.
FADE OUT: sirens stop, dust settles, silence.
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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Paul Olivier Poem
I’m drunk, but you’re beautiful,
a line I used to rehearse.
The Dreamers’ artistic longing felt noble,
but it came with a curse.
I bought the ticket when I didn’t know better from worse.
Now I’ve got a tale of rebellion,
and I’ll share it in verse,
it all changed one Star Wars Day,
when my thirst reversed.
May the Fourth, and I felt matured.
No Padawan—now Jedi Master,
just a little unmoored.
Met some friends inclined for chilled wine,
drinking enough to feel ruthlessly divine.
That hazy day, glazed in the usual sway.
That familiar vortex, melancholy perturbed.
Soles stained deeply by the absurd,
fermented grapes, chaos,
and the dark side assured.
The dark side calls as we sit with the thirst,
but Skywalker’s force starts thinking first:
“Unlearn what you have learned.”
Yoda’s wisdom, unrehearsed.
I needed a change, something absolute.
Had to break old habits
and reroute my pursuit.
Flip the script, exit the Aristotle loop.
We can still have fun.
Still embrace the absurd.
Someone said, “It’s Star Wars Day,”
and a spark then occurred.
We found a weird café,
celebrating in cosplay,
and somewhere in that moment,
a new hope was incurred.
Arriving at the venue, a little out of town, we found the clan,
Princess Leia sold us tickets on the door deadpan,
no droids allowed, no stormtroopers,
but there was a sandman,
Inside were Wookies at the bar, slamming shots like my mum can.
Han Solo in carbonite poster hanging on the wall,
Kids having lightsaber fights with bar stools, humming bishoooom loudly down the hall.
Glass cabinets with falcons and dioramas were neat.
Cantina soundtrack playing curiously on repeat,
Grabbed snacks, Empires on screen, so we found a seat.
We wandered deeper past merch and collector cases,
through aisles of toys and cosplayed faces.
The type of folk draw to these kind of conventions,
You know the type without me having to mention,
They filled the room with joy beyond pretension,
I watched them just be, and I wanted that,
but I found I had to be patient.
I don’t have to keep falling for the trap,
it’s not just escape, it must be more pure.
I lost a friend that day, and yeah, it’s still sore.
He bowed out—boozehound chasing the score,
while I found experience, absurdity, and something more secure.
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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Paul Olivier Poem
The sun rises on silky dunes that look like breasts.
You are lost in the desert,
The air is dry and sandy residue explores your crevices.
Peripatetic genetrix,
Protector of sublime gifts passed on,
Heart of a warrior,
A duty of saudade errant.
You hold steadfast,
Dunes drift but you don’t amble.
Against looming giants,
Of a vast and treacherous land,
Outstretched hands hold tiny fingers that struggle to grasp,
Their sincipient nature shields them from the horror vacui and the traps.
The sun rises on green arbor from mountain to sea.
You are deep in the jungle following the river,
The air is wet and so are your garments,
Sempiternal paths downstream,
Always leading to someone,
Dreams swim in jejune currents,
Little one holding onto glands with tender might.
You carry such weight, yet never lament the burden.
Your wordless obligation—accepted without calls for a palanquin bearer.
The damp acts as surfactant to your saunter.
A gait held steady for itinerant gifts,
Never meandering from Gaia’s cuneiform shifts.
The sun rises on ice blocks with fissures like scars.
You are standing on a glacier,
The cold renders a temporary physical aphasia.
The cub cries for a lactiferous saviour,
The callow dependant cloaked by a valiant defender,
Their chill buffered by your nutrix nature.
Every step fraught with danger,
You are able,
Brave guardian of destined return to cradle.
A bastion of warmth on a frozen tide,
Sure-footed wayfarer votary to your kin taken in stride.
And you,
Snow custodian providing an aeviternal shelter for a precious ingénu.
The sun rises on tower blocks that kiss the red sky.
You are in a city,
The air is thick and you can smell the developing world,
Scents of tar and fumes stain your sanctum.
Credulous solivagant turned paladin champion,
A life you never knew that needs you,
Your hectic solitary past,
Now a new life erecting eirenic values to last.
Your devotion superseding flâneur treads,
A transformation is an awe of spectacle with cooler heads,
You domina deserving the walls where you reside,
Inherit difficulty when past lives collide.
You wore no tyro’s pride.
Gaze upon your young with misericordia eyes,
You are a beautiful myrmidon with a beautiful purpose, you never turned aside.
You are my guard from trepidation,
A steady heart when I’m quailing,
You are my foundation and blessed eternal knight,
You quiet my quiddity reverie like no other.
Tutelary matron, you sanctify my path,
Thank you, to my mother.
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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Paul Olivier Poem
I feel.
I feel like I ripped my heart out and gave it to you. As long as you hold it, it will keep beating.
The only problem is you now have my heart and that part of me is missing when you’re not here with me. I’m dying without you. It’s not fair on us. It’s not fair that I took you apart either.
You were lost and I lead you astray. We followed the moon and went a bit crazy. The stars were out and I was passed out leaving you alone when you needed me most.
You always put on a brave face but I see the truth behind those eyes. This is not easy for us because of what we both really want. We are still on our quest to belong. Every time you walk away I still felt safe because I know you had my back and I have yours. I’ll always have your back you know, always and forever, just like I told you.
I never stopped loving you, even when you were on the other side of the world. I love you, I have told you that so many times and you have told be back. If I didn’t get lost maybe I could have found the way back and you would have been there. I wish I was stronger for us both.
Part of me is dying, part of me had just being born again, part of me makes up what’s in my head, I’m trying to figure this out but nothing makes sense anymore. I was never good at figuring this out alone.
You know I wanted so much more for us both, I don’t know how to make love stay. Tears fall because it hurts, the world is painful without you. I haven’t cried for a year but I’m losing it without you. I’m sorry that I got lost but you know I was never good at knowing the way, all I’ve ever known is where I wanted to be. I take a lot of wrong turns. I fell down and you can’t pick me up, that’s not either of our faults. Life got so ing complicated and so quickly, I feel dizzy. Where was I going with this…
Do you remember what I said to you ten years ago?… I told you that I wanted to fall in love with you…. The truth is,
I had no choice in that…
And, I was already in love with you…
I need to be kinder to myself. You need to be kinder to yourself. I am not perfect. I make mistakes, I’m trying to learn from them, I’m trying to grow. Be kind to yourself, you are incredible.
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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Paul Olivier Poem
Cold turkey never tasted sweet. If you see me smile then I am probably lying to you.
I am so used to that mask it looks natural. I hide because I don't trust you. You are there for me but I think it's because of the performance. The shallows are where we live, everything is surface and we never go deeper. I cough and spew bile.
The phlegm in my throat is bitter and will not let go. I choke but I can still breath, though it's a wheezing breath it gives me oxygen. I hate the smell of everything. I like the cold air as it soothes my burnt and scared lungs. I am cold and bitter and full of hate, though it's getting better as I can now articulate, if only to myself.
I extend my arm and feel the muscles stretch and strain, no one is there to take my hand. I am running away but not physically. My mind is closing doors and my fear is locking those doors. I feel utterly benign. I have no appetite again. I want to run and jump and fly if only for a few seconds before reality grounds me.
I would like to die and that thought is killing me. When it is all over I won't make another choice. It hurts to be so silent. The words build up in my body. My right leg is full of doubt, my left leg still thinks of love, my groin believes in a family. My torso wants to find home, my shoulder dreams of the countryside and my left arm pity's the less fortunate. My elbow believes in magic and my toes think of the future.
My head wants to destroy it all because I have been tricked. The whole world and life, the past, the present and the future is confusing and abstract and arbitrary. It's everything and it is absurd. Even maths is absurd and logical, beauty and chaos. I keep letting go, I stumble drunk but if I fall from this lofty height, make no mistake! I meant it.
I don't know how to save you. When I say you I mean me. I don't know how to save you is a record I play on repeat.
People don't hear me whisper. I'm in pain, it comes ever time I begin to sober up. Maybe I have held on long enough. I fantasise about my body floating down, into a dark and deep sea. I watch from third person as I can't put myself right there. It is only a fantasy and not a dream or a hope. I killed myself a long time ago because I couldn't take the pain. What is left is the achievement of my mind and nervous system, but my soul, I am not sure it could have survived through all of that.
To be juxtaposed is like day dreaming. The sun rises and as my eyes open the darkness seeps in. Who am I, where have I been? Will I be allowed to stay? Or will this be the time he finally kills me.
The parts of myself struggle to all float together and the stress hurts my head. I know I should rest and not pressure myself or fight it.
It should be allowed to flow through me, this pain and hate and love and fear and hope. the words on this one, it's ok, you're ok. If quitting smoking is this hard, try not to do it often.
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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Paul Olivier Poem
I think, there are ghosts.
They stay quiet, the ghosts do. Mostly quiet and invisible. You would hardly know there is one there in the room with you. They are there though. Watching, haunting really to think they linger on, just to be voyeurs. I don’t feel like I’m being watched though. They don’t even have real eyes, they have ghost eyes. I think that’s why they are lost, they can’t see where they are going, not in any discernible way. But they do follow. I can’t talk to them because their vocal chords are much worse than their eyes. They are quiet, mostly.
I hear a clang, a splat, squelch and a bong. It’s like the chimes of a clock striking but it’s a clock that has forgotten it’s a clock. Maybe it woke up too soon and thought it was a tomato today, or perhaps a lima, I can’t be sure. That sound irks me, only it’s, I don’t know what it is they are trying to say. I don’t speak ghost and ghosts don’t speak.
You may wonder why, I believe in ghosts. You may, if you don’t. I don’t need to believe, they are there with my knowledge or not, watching. It is, as if something happened, or will happen. Well things happen whether you believe in them or not.
You never saw a tree fall in the forest when nobody was around but you believe it makes a sound? Perhaps you don’t. You believe in gravity and in the sound mathematical equations you can preform to accurately predict orbits, acceleration and tension? Perhaps you don’t. You believe in oxygen and the carbon cycle. Perhaps you don’t, but that no more stops it than a finger stops a running tap. By any means, belief is not important. You can believe yourself to be a monkey and still believe monkeys capable of writing Shakespeare. You can believe you are a woman, and so you should.
We are not living in a time of truth. We live in a time where the truth is second to nature. Or maybe just second. Second to politics, second to wellbeing, second to matching socks. Where did those socks go? I can’t imagine ghosts have a foot fetish. Don’t suppose they get some thrill embarrassing those caught with odd socks. No, ghosts don’t steal socks, it is the washer that is the real kingpin in that racket.
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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Paul Olivier Poem
Lip stick and pinned up hair and filters. Pouting and peace signs. Toilet selfie and different floral dresses, the flowers unfurled and colours of passion. Forced expressions and emoji captions. This is what I see on social media.
Who can tell what is real about it, all the girls look the same and they look like girls. They go to the same coffee shops which are all equally unique and similar. They snapchat and show that they are social. The projections are their ideal I suppose and also their tangible reality. I don't know any of them. I met a lot of people in my life but I don't know the people in these photos. I feel disconnected.
I feel like they are trying to tell me something, or the world, or tell their world something. Show all their followers how they are active and free and happy and living and beautiful. Is this a paradox, living in a projection that you control and eliminating your whole self for these moments.
Did you want me to think about you? Do you want to be seen? All I see is lipstick and hair. I don't know you and that makes this feel intrusive. Why are you in my thoughts? You post photos of your friends, I don't know who they are, all I see is lipstick and hair.
Yeh maybe she is hot, and I do like that guys jacket. I was just passing the time pressing the screen of this phone which is a mystical portal to the world, my magical glass ball.
I don't normally pay attention to you. I am usually spending more time on my own projection, but I guess I noticed you today. It was the lipstick, and you had your hair pinned back. I would say hello, if I could remember your name.
Copyright © Paul Olivier | Year Posted 2025
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