Am I just a fool? The voice in my head denies it. I have tasted the fruit called Life, savored its sweetness, and endured its bitterness. Through this, I’ve gained wisdom beyond my years, learning from the fears and tears of my impertinent childhood, an irrefutable lesson. Pride, once excusable, now seems nothing more than a facade. Excuse me for my ignorance, for I used to believe that crime pays. The irony of life reveals itself when you realize that getting caught means paying the ultimate price. Ignorance, a more lethal weapon than any unsheathed sword, almost decapitated my belief … Continue reading Am I just a fool?

Se eu soubesse escolher qualquer palavra, e por saber qual das palavras serviria, juro que com elas me arriscaria, e a mais bonita escolheria. Pegaria essa palavra, lapidaria com carinho, transformando-a numa jóia rara. E então, com cuidado, a envolveria ao meu Amor, como uma fita delicada que enlaça um presente precioso. Seria uma palavra de benção, calma e doce, uma brisa suave que acaricia o coração. Teria a leveza da manhã ensolarada e a serenidade da lua cheia. Uma palavra que te acolheria no dia-a-dia, como um abraço caloroso, trazendo conforto e paz. Essa palavra traria um sorriso bom … Continue reading Se eu soubesse…

The art my love is not a product of privilege and luxury, but rather a creation of struggle and hardship. It is not nurtured in the arms of gentle mothers or loving parents, but rather in the harsh realities of the ghettos and favelas. It does not discriminate based on color, race, or creed, for it is a force that transcends all boundaries. It is generous in its ability to uplift and empower, revolutionizing the hearts and minds of those who have been oppressed and marginalized. It gives wings to the afflicted, allowing them to soar above their circumstances and … Continue reading The art does not frontiers

Ah, they are mistaken, all those who believe that I write, my dear ones. I merely overcome the silence of the paper through sheer persistence. I urge the words to reveal their stories, I pester them to declare what they know. With sharp accents and cutting phrases, I intimidate them. And because they know nothing beyond what they’ve told me, because they cannot denounce me for my threats nor for my deceit, I paste my signature below. I appropriate what is not mine. You see, I wouldn’t know how to speak of such beautiful things, of lies I’ve never used … Continue reading I am not a poetess…

His eyes, like pools of midnight, held a depth of desire that could not be contained. They spoke volumes, uncensored and raw, drawing me in with their intoxicating invitation. And when his saccharine tongue touched mine, it ignited a primal carnality within me, a thirst that could not be quenched, a drought that had long been ignored. He marked me with his teeth, his fingers tangled in my hair, leaving me raw and exposed. His touch was a scorching fire, a thrust against my soft skin, leaving me breathless and wanting more. As he moved within me, I saw a … Continue reading His eyes

What is it that I seek? Why do I flee from the void within? In this fleshly prison, I am bound, burdened, it seems, for eternity. Between two realms, I stand: one of love and one of hate. My loneliness acknowledged, hate calls to me with seductive arms, the great god of malice dances before my hollow heart. Darkness draws to darkness, yet my soul battles against its somber pull. I yearn to touch the light. Wearied feet, a body craving rest. I falter from the strife within. I awake to the light, its brilliance blinding. When my eyes can … Continue reading What is it that I seek?

In the hidden crevices of the heart, nestled within the folds of time and memory, lay words of magic, words to keep inside a pocket. Each one held its own story, its own melody, its own light. Quiescent, the silent guardian, a quiet, soft-spoken soul, a beacon of calm in the cacophony of existence. It was the stillness found in the midst of a bustling world, the serene whisper of peace. Chimerical, the dream weaver, spun threads of fancy, painting the sky with visions merely imaginary. It danced through the realms of possibility, a flight of the mind, a spark … Continue reading Words to keep inside my pocket 

Être fort, c’est un fardeau que l’on porte en silence. C’est sourire même lorsque les larmes menacent de submerger notre âme. C’est rayonner de bonheur, même lorsque les ténèbres menacent de nous engloutir. C’est offrir le pardon à ceux qui ne le méritent pas, et attendre sans espoir de retour. C’est rester calme dans les tourments du désespoir, et offrir la joie quand notre cœur est en peine. Être fort, c’est cacher nos propres tourments derrière un sourire radieux, c’est étouffer nos sanglots pour offrir un visage serein. C’est offrir du bonheur à ceux qui nous entourent, même lorsque notre … Continue reading Être fort …

My love was born in a land of mystery where water flows in midnight tresses, so free this skin, a canvas of forest and Eastern light a redwood dye of history, woven so right. It’s not my own, but a legacy of toil from my mother’s hands, from the earth’s rich soil glass bangles sing, a melody in the air hoisting baskets of life, with grace and care. This land, it holds the moon and sun so dear with fruits so sweet, and eyes so kind and clear strong hands, gentle hearts, a rhythm so pure, a pulse that beats … Continue reading Brasil

You cannot feed the hungry with statistics. Numbers and charts do not warm empty hearts, nor fill empty stomachs. Hunger is a silent lament, a cry that echoes through quiet streets and dark alleys. It is in the outstretched hands and hopeful eyes that we find the true essence of humanity. Each piece of bread, each sip of water, is a symbol of compassion and solidarity. For those who feel the pain of hunger, solace does not come in the form of tables and reports. It comes in simple gestures, in warm smiles, in acts of kindness that transcend cold … Continue reading People are not numbers…