Rataplan
i hear you drumming
against the walls,
of your urn
what remains of you
is angry
no little drummer boy, here
i move forward
leaving you
leaving the life we had
all behind
telling the secrets
that almost took me out
but now i realize
many were yours
not mine
stop your banging
on that fancy ass urn
wish it was anywhere but here
most days
but our kids know
where to find you
and so do i
all too well
rataplan
when i don't answer
you chase me in my sleep
i need peace
quiet
i hear it in my dreams
trauma nightmares
you chasing me
down some dark alley
footsteps pounding
the beating of my heart
frighten, i wake
sit up, unsettled
again
rataplan
time for quiet
fucking leave me alone
Jenny Olson 2/19/25
Jemmy Olson The Poet © 2025
LINT IN YOUR POCKET, THE OTHER WOMAN LAMENT
i was just little piece of lint
in your pocket
stuck far in the corner
where no one could see
hand in your pocket
pushed me where i should be
stuck and out of sight
where you played me with
when you felt the urge
if i was dust on your sleeve
out for anyone to see
you could have flicked me
off at any time you pleased
even if accidentally
instead
i was lint in your pocket
for no one to see
and lint doesn't cry
isn't sad
when you picked the speck out
tired of the lint in your pocket
and threw me away
finally, on that drop down to the floor
i spread my wings, and flew
no more than lint in your pocket
i fight you calling me back
freedom feels too good
Acknowledgement
Poems from the Rebel Outpost 2025
Before You Left
Before You Left
i never got the chance
to ask you to leave
my heart
when you left
give it back whole
and unscathed
healed from the
years of "us"
you just died with no real remorse
and no one told
me what being
your widow would mean
no one prepared me for
the grief of loving you
no one told me
that i would have to
make decisions on my own
what to eat, what to wear
trying to do these
and step out into a world
i don't know how to navigate
without you telling
me what to say, how to manage
and i never got the chance
to say i hated you
as the mantle of abuse was lifted
and i had to figure
out how to live
how to move forward
and would never forgive you
before you left me
broken and alone
standing in the middle
of all the parts of me
with a heart that
may never heal
Jenny Olson 11/1/24 - rewtire 11/27/24
Jenny Olson The Poet © 2024
A Girl Like You
what? you don't say!
raped? your fault
you went with him
you didn't know a thing
about what made him tick
a girl like you can't
ever
ever
ever
no matter what you say
a girl like you can't ever be raped
what? he did that?
what? makeup should cover it
stupid bitch
shouldn't have been there
no one to help you
a girl like you can't
ever
ever
ever
no matter what you say
a girl like you can't ever be raped
lost the money?
no, good girl
have a drink; take a minute
then get back out there
your pimp knows a girl like you can't
ever
ever
ever
no matter what you say
a girl like you can't ever be raped
then what in the hell just happened
to a girl like me?
Jenny Olson 8/26/23
From my upcoming book Jenny's Story - Poems from the Streets
Scriblles on a Napkin
From: Winter of Pink Flamingos
somewhere west
off Route 66
is a truck stop
that's seen better days
formica counter tops
red, fake leather booth backs
teased blond hair
too much makeup
hair in a messy bun
typical waitress on the strip
but she had dreams
of being a writer
a poet
truckers liked her boobs
her smile, her laugh
hit on her every day
but she was a writer
a poet
served their coffee
on poem-covered napkins
laughed too loud
too much lipstick
always smiling
teasing them all
no enemies in her realm
typical waitress on the strip
they started coming
not for her boobs
not for her smile or her laugh
stopped hitting on her
they started coming
for her words
they shared those words
with other burly truckers
reading poetry out loud
she leaned back against the counter
and smiled
pulled a notepad out
of her apron pocket
and wrote poetry
like she was born to do
she was a writer
a poet
Jenny Olson wants her words to make people feel and think. From human trafficking to freedom, addiction to recovery, from abuse to redemption. She is a survivor of complex trauma; a widow making her way in a brave new world. An emerging poet, she writes about hard things that people have done to them. Or do to themselves. Those things people don't talk about, much less write about. But to those women still stuck and imprisoned in these worlds, they need a voice and she intends to be that voice. And for those who don't know these worlds, read and learn.
Published in various online journals and publications, and anthologies. Instangram: JennyOlsonThePoet, Facebook: Musings of An Angry Woman
Smoke is In the Air
smoke is in the air
something burning somewhere
it's her, she's burning
the little life she has is burning
his sickness takes away
the last thing she had for herself
the life she fought
so hard to make within the walls
he built around her
no more chats before logging in
no more bitching after meetings
no more meetings
truth be told, she liked meetings
no more working from hospital
instead of working from home
her career, her identity of her
she had made something of herself
all burning up
like the end of her childhood
burned up for him, he took and took
she knew she didn't get back
but there's smoke in the air
and no way to put that fire out
It burns down to coals
that crush under her feet
smoke is in the air
Jenny Olson 4/3/2024
Jenny Olson The Poet © 2024