To find the words in my mind that fall from fingertips dipped in ink and smeared with the blood of thought. I cannot voice these things with sound, my throat clenches with the fear of spoken thoughts. There are too many things trapped inside, too many wants without recompense. Scattered and lost, some found through stumbling in the dark of my empty corners. These are the reasons why I am obsessed with words, this is why I spill blood through ink, onto pages real and lost. This is the meaning of me, the things that tie me to this world, … Continue reading Words…

I have shown people how I weave words or show emotions like a full cup brimming its foam into the edge. I have shown curiosity and wisdom in my charcoal eyes and smiled into kindness. I have listened to my surroundings, I have hovered, lingered and stayed until they realize I was listening all along. I felt me, as I sponge myself for their pain or happiness. I have journeyed six different sunrise and sunsets in six countries. I saw the colors that flounce before my eyes and what they bring into my soul. The dreams I make out with … Continue reading I have…

Demissionary of the submissive position, of the female madness when untreated, firm foot: to be a woman is to reinvent herself, is to construct identity, to conquer power. She discovers that there are only two options: whether to make a woman angry and determined or to go crazy. Submitting herself, ever! Mary was structured in anger. She needed to receive, to recover substance, intensity. She looked at the city and felt the cement inside. She needed to cure the emptiness: while the cars run, she howled inside. She was ready for life with poetry, otherwise, it would be misplaced, shipwrecked. … Continue reading To all Marias…

All the kisses I’ve ever been given, today I feel them on my mouth. And my knees feel them, the reckless ones placed there through the holes in my jeans while I sat on a car hood or a broken sofa in somebody’s basement, stoned, the way I was in that day, still amazed that boys and even men would want to lower their beautiful heads like horses drinking from a river and taste me. The back of my neck feels them, my hair swept aside to expose the nape, and my breasts tingle the way they did when my … Continue reading All the kisses…

Chico Buarque, vencedor do prêmio Camões 2019. #chicobuarque Meu caro amigo, me perdoe, por favor Se eu não lhe faço uma visita Mas como agora apareceu um portador Mando notícias nessa fita Aqui na terra tão jogando futebol Tem muito samba, muito choro e rock’n’roll Uns dias chove, noutros dias bate o sol Mas o que eu quero é lhe dizer que a coisa aqui tá preta…🎼🎭 Sketch: Chico Buarque, o poeta da alma feminina ❤ Continue reading Chico

It requires tremendous courage to no longer take refuge in any idea or concept to tell us who we are and what this life is. In the uncertain, ahistorical, acausal heart of reality, there is no confirmation for personal identity. There is no “awakening” here, no enlightenment for me, no magical stories of how I’ve “shifted” from this to that, no “final” and “permanent” “states” where we’re protected from conflict, safe from the burning fires of intimacy. There is no longer a landing place for the separate self; none of this has any meaning from the perspective of love. The … Continue reading Burning up in the raging furnace of love…

At the end of the day, we invite ourselves to the sorrows, so that we always remain naked before who matters the most: to ourselves. For it is life characteristic of itself to request such nudity for us to know how to dress ourselves with new clothes and dreams, since sadness is the precise symptom that addresses us and to tell us among some things that the clothes we have are no longer fit in us. But we insist in refusing such advice and request; and how easy it is to find rags through the streets we cross daily. Among … Continue reading We are naked …

Each of us is an instrument of Life itself to make it reach its fullness. By “coincidence,” it will reach its goal when all of us, being its parts, reach ours. When you cry, Life cries with you. When you love yourself, Life loves you too. You are happy and all Life celebrates. You take a step toward Life and it takes ten steps toward you. You win and you conquer a entire existence. You lose and it sets the next step. There is no difference between it and us. There are no differences between you and me. Only dimensions, … Continue reading Instrument …

There are many poems which touch us through the years. Poetry has the ability to say what we feel. It’s rhythm sometimes comforts us as a child can be comforted in a rocking chair. It lays bare the soul and pretense and pride are burned away by the fires of yesterday. It comforts us when we feel sadness and despair. It inspires us when hope is almost lost. The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes And the heart … Continue reading Poetry