Olivia Dodge
Bio
22 | Chicago
ig: l1vyzzzz & lntlmate
Stories (58/0)
- Top Story - May 2024
Excerpt II
excerpt 4/27/24 Have I told you that you are the warmest womb to ever have revived me? The doctors won’t listen. I visit her daily until I can’t anymore. She understands, tells me I’m the only one who makes her feel guarded, and I have never thought of guarded in the sense of secure, only closed. My dear friend lies still in her cotton consummation, destined to blight the waters with blood, and I fear I am the only one who knows how to help– Would you really stoop to such a rotten sense of delusion? On what pedestal must you stand to enlighten a child–
By Olivia Dodge24 days ago in Poets
I’m Writing A Book
VOL. 1 3/8/24 8:29pm I am writing with my father on my shoulder but his words do not sound like the snap of a Nikon like they once did (it is strange the way our voices lose their heft once we decide a palm provides more closure). His words used to have the grip of a safety strap, giving me the assurance to buy myself a cellophane-coated death without twitching, or tie my shoes the right way and not feel too useless about it. Now they sound like refrigerators in a grocery store, blaring in silence, a woman’s hush, soft embraces from– This is stupid.
By Olivia Dodgeabout a month ago in Writers
Memoir Through Time
3/29/24 8:19pm When I was twelve I went to therapy for the first time. When I was thirteen I decided to live. When I was thirteen he told me never to bring a black man in this house. When I was fourteen I decided that words meant more than action. When I was fifteen I changed my mind. When I was fifteen I met my second therapist. When I was sixteen I decided to live. When I was sixteen I became my mom’s mom. When I was sixteen he told me that everything would change. When I was seventeen I believed him. When I was seventeen I met my third therapist. When I was eighteen I decided to live. When I was eighteen I didn’t know what that meant. When I was nineteen I moved away. When I was nineteen I met my fourth therapist. When I was nineteen I fell in love. When I was twenty I decided to live. When I was twenty I told my dad that I loved him. When I was twenty I told myself that any response was a good response. When I was twenty-one I called my grandparents. When I was twenty-one I decided to love.
By Olivia Dodgeabout a month ago in Poets
3/1/24 10:48pm
3/1/24 10:48pm I’ve Grown Feet This Month and when my teeth become too brittle to take on shards of ice, I will rely on those who whittled them down, suckling at citrus from the vines of motherhood, beckoning a wife, a woman whose lips curl in agony but showcase content, like a curtain closing each breath, the burning on my knees leading me to water, I remember this, I know these chips, I taste this wire wrapped tightly around each stem, fingering the seeds like little tiny bones, a man in the corner, telling us he has lived here all his life, grown to foot the shores and eye the birds, swallow shards whole, because they will melt in the end
By Olivia Dodge2 months ago in Poets
Compile Your Beliefs
February 4th 2024 11:18am — Compile your beliefs and they will sprout in soil— a glazed despair wrinkled in meditation / sit by the running water / walk home from work and wonder what it is like to be human / torn to bits these desires float but the adjectives do not come naturally anymore / be still by the rear doors / look in the mirrors but do not uphold the person inside / medication cannot hold the hands of derision / shame will bury itself between your ribs / we have known for some time / find solace in ugly things / statuesque ribbon used to tie our wrists together / will they leave bruises? / will they finally ripen in the sun? / will the fruits of ancestors be preserved for my children?
By Olivia Dodge2 months ago in Poets
New Year
The new year is making your cheeks warm and you can’t remember the last time your heart didn’t race in the silence. It’s so hard to tell them how you would drink poison if it meant their legs still carried your weight and it’s been months since you felt safe here — in this cushion of love which means to provide it nonetheless. In this room you scream at death’s door and beg for answers to questions you have not yet asked! You shriek and the walls rumble and it is felt through miles how this plea is being held by your mother’s hands.
By Olivia Dodge8 months ago in Poets