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Que língua estranha é essa que uso para me esquecer? Há dias que nem toda cafeína do mundo me basta… escrevo a quem quer que seja. Este é o ato de colocar pra fora, mas onde encontra-se o dentro? O dentro é um silêncio ruidoso, uma pré arte, um espaço repleto de pré coisas a serem nominadas. O dentro é o que eu inventei. Certas vezes escrevo para ver concretamente o que não pode ser dito. Seja o que for, isto dentro. Algo tão grande que impele as linhas e tão modesto que sucumbe à moral popular que sempre pode … Continue reading Que língua estranha …

I am going to love you like I do not know that I am not meant for you. I will sit on rooftops with you and I will write poetry on the backs of your hands. I do not know if you will feel anything for it, but I hope you do. You will walk home that night and your hands will shake and when you stretch them out before you there will still be ink on your skin. You will think of me. You are going to call me in the morning and you will take me to the … Continue reading I am going …

You know someone truly loves you they want to complement your happiness, not take it from you. When they randomly go out of their way to do something nice for you, without bringing it up in arguments to rub it in your face. You’ll know they think you’re special, when they respect your body, mind and soul. When they speak highly of you when you’re not around to hear. You’ll know they value your presence when you have days when you don’t do anything exciting yet you still have an amazing time. When you’re not forced to do something you’re … Continue reading What is true love?

Getting soul naked in life is surrender what we are inside out, free from all ties and social dogmas. In my belief,  my vision and my desire — to dance a naked soul through words stripped of past-present participles and conjugated verbs that shroud who I am behind the veil of fear I am too naked when I reveal who I am without the constructs of the language I employ to keep me safe from being seen. I show myself, I emerge entirely. I expose my vulnerabilities and my humanity flourishes within me.  Stripped of its vanity, it means — … Continue reading Naked soul …

And there is irony in my eyes and tiredness, I cross my arms and never go around… my glory is not to follow anybody. I live with the same desire of whom tore the mother’s womb and ran for life. I prefer to slip in the muddy alleys, I prefer to swirl to the winds like rags and drag my bloody feet than to go around without direction and appreciation for life… If I came to this world was only to deflower the virgin forests and draw my feet in the unexplored sand. I do not need tools, axes and courage to … Continue reading My life…

To live in a state of poetry, I would get in your backlands, I would not fear the death, dark nights, storms… I would live a thousand lives, I would forget my childhood nightmares, and I would take shelter myself in the shield of your soul… ♥ Continue reading A state of poetry…

In a way that was ferocious, overwhelming, obsessive and slightly insane. There was not a single reason and a million to love him and certainly no reason to mourn his absence, and yet she was acutely aware of the silence as the sun rose and set four times in a day. He was a culmination of everything she loved, hated, wanted and wanted to avoid. He was a no one who became someone who became everyone and everything–the life and the death in her days–an ever-present dull ache that no drug, drink or prayer could diminish. The hurt he caused … Continue reading …and she missed him…