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Complicated

he was a complicated man

she was a complicated woman

both were too smart

most days

for the relationship

 

he was a complicated husband

she was a complicated wife

some truth, too

no one else

would put up with them

 

but complicated doesn't

a heavenly match make

dark shadows 

complicated shadows

lots of tears

lots of silence

lots and lots and lots

of everything

 

he was a complicated dreamer

she was a complicated planner

neither knowing

what they needed

to thrive

 

too much left unsaid

simmered, unattended

until it flared

flash fires

all around

 

just a complicated woman

all alone now

sometimes

she feels a brush 

up against her side

like he's passing by

checking in on her

love and hate

kissing cousins

 

a complicated woman

making her way 

in a brand new world

 

with no flash points

 

Jenny Olson 11/1/23

Jenny Olson The Poet © 2023

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