i take too long in my morning coffee cause again i said good night to the sun before accepting silence. when i’m not writing with my fingers i am with my mind a shibuya crossing of questions regrets wander while hiding behind surgical masks school girls of self esteem, hand in hand but still i cant comprehend. i visit old conversations that i promised i never would (how long did it last? a...
i could never foresee such an obvious event: to talk about my pain makes you talk about yours. now i get texts, confessions, dms. women who felt the same. experimented the same. send me links of things written by women we never met. poems, articles. so many references. so much power in so much pain. and still hurting myself i sit back and realise i never in my life sparked such beautiful...
i spend days in bed debilitated by loss i attempt to cry you back but the water is done and still you have not returned i pinch my belly till it bleeds have lost count of the days sun becomes moon and moon becomes sun and i become ghost a dozen different thoughts tear through me each second you must be on your way perhaps it’s best if you’re...
i tend to collect objects i never find an occasion special enough to use. fancy scented candles and, especially, bubble bombs. i buy them and i keep them for a bath deserving of this indulgence. the latter, i actually used just once. after a nicely crafted dinner, scented candles, the most passionate sex plus a very legal and powerful joint. but the only way i got to explain just how special the...
i wonder what makes a woman pay to have herself be put out. her body cut open. her face cut open. pieces taken out. pieces put in, and skin sewn together. just to please a man. i wonder if it helped. i wonder if it’s because of what you said to her when you were angry. and what could possibly convince her she was a slut. (and then make her personally go and convince others – her...
we started our story drenched in blood we didn’t care, it was fun and on a pool of blood we remain. you never physically hurt me but i always bled. once, for weeks on end. one day i woke up with a black eye, mysteriously. (in LA, do you remember?) funny because it was the day i started reading signs that you were hurting me to my back. i still didn’t knew but my body did. maybe it was...
as coisas não iam bem há dias, talvez semanas. era hora de ter A conversa que eu ensaiei na véspera e agora acontecia no sofá. todos as minhas previsões pessimistas se concretizaram. não dava mais, era o fim? deitei na cama em prantos e, para fugir da dor, dormi. acordei apavorada. você estava lá, do meu lado, vigilante: -vamos pedir uma pizza antes de eu ir? estava esperando você acordar, estou...
I did you nothing. Nothing but my angry words to cause you pain. I never took what ~I know~ hurt you the most, what almost killed you and caused you endless sleepless nights – taking your most precious possession, your sense of self and reality – and ground my sweaty body with it to feed my own pleasure and ego (holding it tight as you sounded slept and I wept trying to find you). I...
vamos falar sem escolher palavras, sem cuidar de métrica? o que aconteceu na última noite eu vou precisar de dias pra processar. tempo pra extrair tudo o que significou e, principalmente, coragem para botar em registro, pra sabe-se lá quem ler mas preciso, preciso digerir. preciso, um dia, entender. enquanto isso, já tenho por onde começar. o material que meu inconsciente me deu nas poucas horas...
So, there’s you. I sat on this sentence. Had a drink, read half a magazine, watched the news. But this sentence hung there: There’s you. You are real. Of course I could have made you up. I sure would draw you just the same: perfect green eyes, your crooked nose, sexy lips. Tall and charming. I would have made your hair just as soft and I couldn’t make it smell any better than it...