Relax—time is a master of plot twists. In its arms, time carries the most unimaginable surprises, transforming life with its mastery. What seems insurmountable today may dissolve into a gentle breeze tomorrow. The challenges we face, the pain we feel, are all fleeting in the face of time’s greatness and wisdom. With every twist and turn, time teaches us the value of patience and hope. It shows us that no matter how difficult the journey may seem, there is always a possibility for renewal, for rebirth. Time is a skilled artist, painting new landscapes, creating new opportunities, and giving us … Continue reading Relax!

Com imensa alegria, compartilho com vocês que meu livro Monólogos está finalizado e em breve estará disponível nas livrarias! Essa obra é o resultado de anos de escrita, reflexão e emoção. Reúne uma coleção de monólogos criados para o palco, mas que também vivem intensamente nas páginas — textos poéticos que mergulham nos sentimentos e nas experiências humanas, nas dores e nas delicadezas que nos atravessam. Escrito em inglês e português, Monólogos é um convite à escuta interior, à voz que ecoa quando estamos a sós, e ao teatro como espaço de revelação. Mal posso esperar para que ele encontre … Continue reading Monólogos

Love never dies.But there are nights when it forgets your name,when it turns its back and closes every door you once believed would stay ajar.You stand outside, breath fogging the silence,and the world feels like a hallway of locked rooms. Sometimes your heart spills—not like poetry, not like wine—but like a hard night on an empty pavement.Cold.Unnoticed.And no one puts their jacket over you.No one walks you home. You wander, barefoot and half-crazed,the moon your only witness,the stars too far to care.You ask the wind if there was ever a door that let you in at all,or if love was … Continue reading The Door That Never Closed

The first line of a poem should usher you in—not with fanfare, but with quiet invitation.A door half open, its hinges whispering welcome.Inside, a warm glow spills across the floor,soft as memory, steady as breath.There’s an empty seat waiting—not lonely, but expectant,as if someone just stood up to fetch teaand will return with stories still steaming. You sit. You listen.The words unfold like linen,creased with longing, smoothed by time.They speak of love, of loss,of the way light bends through old windowsand how silence sometimes says the most. And just when you think you’ve settled in—when the rhythm has rocked you … Continue reading The first line of a poem should usher you in

— Eles não vão gostar!— Eles que se fodam! Foi assim que começou. Duas frases, cuspidas com a força de quem já cansou de pedir licença para existir. Eu estava ali, diante de mais uma decisão que parecia pequena, mas carregava o peso de todas as expectativas alheias. Um corte de cabelo diferente, uma escolha de carreira, uma opinião que não se encaixava no molde. Sempre vinha alguém com o alerta: “Eles não vão gostar.” Mas quem são “eles”? Os que assistem de camarote, prontos para vaiar? Os que nunca ousaram sair da fila, mas distribuem regras como se fossem … Continue reading Crônica: O Dia em Que Eu Disse “Eles Que Se Fodam”

Press me into a chapter of the book you wish you’d written. Let my essence live within the pages, a whisper between the lines, an echo of dreams and unspoken words. Tuck me in a cedar chest, nestled next to the things you used to love, where the scent of time past mingles with memories cherished and forgotten. File me away with the sepia-toned photographs of the journeys you took with the people who meant everything. In those faded images, let me be a silent companion, a presence that fills the spaces of your past with warmth and remembrance. Sing … Continue reading Keepsake…

Há dias em que tudo parece calar. As janelas se fecham, o mundo se recolhe, e o silêncio pesa como uma cortina sobre nossos sonhos. Mas há uma força que não se dobra: o amanhecer. O sol não pergunta se estamos prontos. Ele simplesmente vem. Mesmo quando não o vemos, mesmo quando o céu está encoberto ou os olhos estão marejados, ele cumpre sua promessa: renasce. Essa certeza — de que a luz retorna — é o que nos sustenta. Porque há esperança no ciclo, há beleza na persistência, há fé no invisível. E mesmo que o dia anterior tenha … Continue reading Mesmo com as janelas fechadas, o sol insiste

In the hush between the first cry and the final breath, life stretches—a canvas of moments waiting to be embraced. There is no remedy for death, nor for birth, those twin mysteries that bookend our existence. But oh, the spaces in between! They are ours to hold, to honor, to fill with laughter and longing, with wild dreams and quiet grace. So live loud, like thunder rolling across a summer sky. Live wide, like oceans that refuse to be contained. Live tall, like trees that reach for the sun even after the storm. Let your days echo with meaning, your … Continue reading Live!

Love is religion. It is my religion. I found it on my knees at the meeting of your thighs, coursing through my body until it kissed the tips of my toes. You were god, your body, I crowned my temple. I worshipped as the sun climaxed, in parting your lips, I whispered a prayer against the soft curve of your neck. In those moments, the world ceased to exist, and there was only the sacred connection between us. Each touch, each breath, was a hymn, a devotion to the divine within you. The reverence I felt was pure, unwavering, a … Continue reading Temple

Sometimes, I find myself gazing into the mirror, examining each feature in turn: my eyes, my mouth, the contour of my forehead, the curve of my eyelids, the line of my face. And this coarse and ugly amalgamation, grotesque and miserable, could it truly know how to craft verses? Ah, no! There must be something else… but what? After all, why ponder? Living is not knowing that one is alive. It is a dance, a fleeting moment of existence that we seldom pause to dissect. In the reflection staring back at me, I see the undeniable evidence of life, etched … Continue reading Before the Mirror