Amor e entorpecente 2


surge em sensação

do contorno superior da clavícula


brota do centro do peito

em todas direções

no diâmetro dos cantos da boca


Fool of a Heart



My dear heart,

You beat yourself up

To such little odds

You feed up my mind

With these naive thoughts

I don´t know if you deserve

Punishment or reward

For planting seeds

That may never grow

Fool of a heart,

Full of hope

All I see are flowers

Even though

I step on thorns

And still, you try…

Tell me, heart

Are you brave

Or are you just blind?


Once you strip

To the core of your insecurity,

Unprotected in the open

Field of sun and sand.


When it´s you and the mirror

Enclosed in the cubicle.

Too close to ignore.

Too bright to stare.







Some will say you worry too much,

As if you were a frivolous girl.

Some will say you stopped caring

And let yourself go.


Because after all,

You should just be “you”.

When within catalogued pages,

They will fuck you too.

But I still write

I know it´s pointless.

But I still write.

That´s what I do whenever my chest feels heavy.

Or my throat gets sore.

Writing puts my feelings under control.

Emotions are clothes all over the bedroom floor.

Writing is a loving mother that folds them into a pile.

I do have great emotional needs.

I am trying to find out where the drain is.