Poesia (26.8)

pronome dêitico

só é leve quando
eu digo que é.

só balança mesmo,
de tremer o olhar,
se eu deixar balançar.

e me lanço a mim
num voo contínuo
de ida.
há de ser ininterrupto.

ser água no vento
e
deixar-me ir,
apenas.

só é leve quando eu diego.

Texto (0.7)

Sundays Are Harder

I dreamed of you, you know?

It was just like the old days but I woke up feeling guilty.

Guilty because of how I feel now.

We were at a party, somewhere like what the lesbian bar used to be; loads of drugs, we shared a beer, kisses all over the place. My friends were there too, they were having a nice time. You pull over a bit of weed, make yourself a cigarette, I would look at you with disapproval, I still don't see your smoking with good eyes, it's like I can feel you being lost all over the smoke in each and every cigarette.

We would go to my house after the party. But not to neither of the apartments I had lived in for the past years. It was the house behind Nana's. My old bedroom but with a double bed in it. My mom was in the kitchen, yelling, cooking. You were in my bed, shirtless. Mom would scream in order to talk to me, I'd go there and have an argument with her, we'd cook something, and I'd go back to the bedroom.

You're eating Chinese food there. I start kissing your bellybutton, weirdly shaped, but beautiful to me, and wake up.

And I feel guilty, because I want you, you know? 

I feel bad because I think I want this past. I feel bad because it seems like I don't want myself. And there’s no art over here, just pain.

Poesia (26.7)

entardeço

apressados
apressados
os passos se curvam
diante da rotina.

monto esquemas,
desconto horas,
preparo estruturas
(tanto físicas
quanto intelectuais).

convivo com os fantasmas todos,
bebo água,
faço rir,
faço rir.

como o que trouxe comigo,
reduzo problemas,
na mochila estão;
escuto canções,
viabilizo respirações profundas.
e choro baixinho pra dentro,
baixinho,
baixinho
só eu escuto;
deixo cair aquelas lágrimas.
entardecidas se perdem,
nem tão salgadas mais, eu acho.
têm o gosto da tarde.

entardeço seguindo o barulho
das obras,
caçando a lua,
tropeço olhando pro céu,
mas não caio com frequência.
sigo com fones atarraxados
que inundam meus pensamentos,
já entardecidos,
de qualquer coisa
que distraia;
e o sol se finda acolá.

Poesia (26.6)

Burning Before Building

The bridges are aborted

While kissing.

I disappoint myself constantly.

My shields have been risen

So high

That not even my giant heart

Is able to go over them.

I'm covered in missingness.

I have aborted possibilities

Before even giving them a try.

We must have been great lovers

In past lives.

I have been defying stars for too long now.

It's time to defy myself to be happy.