Olivia Dodge
Bio
23 | Chicago
ig: l1vyzzzz & lntlmate
Stories (104)
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Love, Leaves
4/12/25 Geography is strange. I am here but I was there and you are never as far as I thought you were. I’m not allowed to love you anymore. Lots of things are strange. The itch in my palm. The ire in my stomach. Where do you feel your emotions— on the map, in a traffic light? In your throat, on your scalp? Bugs and hemispheres, electricity and flem— it doesn’t matter what it is if you don’t know where it’s from, if the last time you drew that house from memory it didn’t come close to the real thing. I’m not allowed to love you anymore, because the lights went out and the carpet had too many stains to make back the deposit. It’s a twelve hour drive, for God’s sake. I’m not allowed to love you anymore, so I’m giving my love to state lines, where the directions are tricky but I can’t blame anyone but me if the tire goes flat and I sleep under the stars with nothing but an itch in my palm to remind me that love, when it’s leaving, looks farther than it actually is.
By Olivia Dodge8 months ago in Poets
4/15/25
A NON-EXHAUSTIVE LIST OF THINGS I’M NOT SORRY FOR crying on the bus during rush hour / going five years without hearing my grandparent’s voices / using all the sticky notes / being glad our cat died before our vacation / stealing food from grocery stores / stealing anything I can / going to bed early / just to lie there for hours and wonder if I should have been more thorough when I was fourteen / leaving the trash by the back door / going five days without washing my hair / going twenty three years without saying I love you / crying in your bed on our first date / never learning how to cook raw chicken properly / never learning how to ride a bike without feeling like it’s a test / never learning how to speak / never learning how to feel things without becoming them / not being able to cry when I wish I could / suddenly knowing how to cry when I shouldn’t / knowing the difference between platonicity and romance / just to call them by my own name
By Olivia Dodge9 months ago in Poets
Unforgivable Stitches
April 2025 11:24pm To be a dreamer is foolish, taught to us in shadows of expression, fools approach me more than a decent living nowadays, and do you think you can go on living? Do you think you can string it together, make a pretty picture on a cork board, and we’ll all forget that you can’t tell up from down? That you were born all twisted up and unforgiving? Fools don’t approach you anymore, you carved yourself a chasm in bedrock but it’s really made of the same cushions your ancestors stitched together, and what does string have to do with lessons learned? To be a dreamer means criss-crossing plays an essential role, to be a fool means you have already been assigned a part, and to be me or to be you means a decent living is nothing to be taught, nothing to be learned, but to be recognized. We can go on living because what else is there to do, other than break apart the puzzle and stick the box in the closet to be well rested for our children. It’s upside down, so mind your head in thirty years, and if a missing piece falls beneath wood, then it’s time to dig. The clock is ticking. Dreams won’t satisfy anyone. Teach them of light source and make sure you get the thick strands from the store down the road, it’s worth it in the end.
By Olivia Dodge9 months ago in Poets
Cremation Society
3/2/25 8:31pm I look up just in time to see The Cremation Society of Illinois every morning but I’m never conscious enough to take in the sunrise and I wish there was a camera wired to my brain be- cause I could never recreate the things I see every day but watching reflections swim across can just be for me it’s okay to keep this for myself sunset against sunset this I can recreate I know I can but I can’t seem to start orange against blue orange against grey orange against the fear that digs into my elbows I’ve lived here four years and never seen these symphonies played before me I look up just in time to get off at my stop and I hate to think of strangers in the way I do without a sound you speak the words of a thousand men and I can start as soon as you see me as soon as you write it down of whitecaps you will feel the resentment I will never let go
By Olivia Dodge10 months ago in Poets
March 2025
March 2025 Will it ever be enough that I am still to grow, that I am capable of a sprout, that the things I feel cannot be acted behind a curtain on stage, will it ever be enough to look at me, to sit with me in a booth made of red leather, to share a purse and fill it with soil, will it ever be enough that you are wearing a stain of my heart, that you can build a cross and nail me to it, that you can board the windows and leave me here, leave me with a bowl of water, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me with sunlight, leave me for a greenhouse, will it ever be enough to see a single stem, will it ever be enough to flower twice a year, will it ever be enough to touch one leaf and let me wilt through winter, to wait and wait and wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait behind the curtain, wait in the window, wait here and hold this, wait for me to feel warmth
By Olivia Dodge10 months ago in Poets
Thursday 8:08
I'm having trouble sleeping and saying I love you That's not because the pillows are too soft or the heat is on, or the mattress is sinking in on your side / Not because I always sleep better with piano playing between my ears or my throat gets dry too often / Not because I can feel my heartbeat like temptation and no, breathing exercises don’t slow it down / Not because you don’t say it or show it or make me feel it / Not because the sun is creeping up behind our heads or the cold on my ribs is keeping me alive / I’m not sure I can tell you what you want to hear / I’m not sure I can hold you with my eyes and kiss you with my hands / I’m not sure I can overcome myself to find you next to it / My body / My body / My body / Hold me / still-ly / So I may drift into the rest / Of us / Where I don’t love you the way I want to / But the way you need to be loved / still-ly
By Olivia Dodge12 months ago in Poets
