quando ele parte
parte também o coração,
agora mais pequeno
que a soma das partes
Obvious SecretsWhen you look at her
You know what she did
It’s written all over her face
Clear on those rosy cheeks.
The hands behind her back
match her big innocent eyes
and the sweet treacherous grin.
A cherub who knows no sin.
And once you ask what she did
She’ll bat her eyes
Giggle, smile and speak:
“I’d never steal a cookie!”
Unaware of the chocolate
smeared all over her cheek.
Things That Fit in the Palm of My HandIn the palms of my hands there is everything.
Roads from one side to the other,
Mountains, hills and red spots.
They carry my life.
They carry my love.
And if I could…
If I wanted in my hands I would carry
A whole country, a whole continent.
Maybe the world or even the Universe.
But, my love, there is nothing I wish more
than to carry your hand in mine.
100TC - 52. ChristmasMerry Christmas I am told
And I am waiting to be cold.
But it’s hot everyday,
Even when it rains!
And if Christmas is so close,
How come it’s spring?
Shouldn’t it be fall?
And are you telling me Santa will bring
All the gifts here?
He must be wearing shorts
And drinking cold beer.
When I die I'll be MusicWith so much beauty in the world
Couldn’t I have been born
As anything but this flawed being
That I am?
In a world of waterfall and trees
Wolves, foxes, squirrels and fawns,
With buzzing wasps and bees,
Flying doves and silent swans
Why ain’t I one of these?
If I float in the universe alongside galaxies,
Comets and stars,
Not too far from black holes
And even closer to Mars,
Why ain’t I from one of those?
When I’m surrounded by the arias,
The poetry and the paintings,
By the sculptures and the buildings,
The songs and the plays,
Why ain’t I one of these makings?
When I die I’ll be music.
What about you?
100TC - 94. Brokenhearted (or Chris' Lament)The problem is not that I’m alone,
That there’s no one to welcome me home
Or that the bed is empty in the morning
in the evening and dawn.
The issue is not the meals for one,
The evenings in on my own,
That there aren’t calls from anyone
and no reason to have a phone.
The question is not that I’m lonely
in this one bedroom apartment.
That there’s nothing to make it homey,
except for what I can’t have anymore.
The question is you once were here
and you were my one and only.
The question is you showed me more
and had me longing for what I hadn’t before.
The issue is my heart longs for you
and my body misses your touch.
The issue is I’d love to hate you
but I can no longer hold a grudge.
The problem is I fell in love
and made a terrible mistake.
The problem is I am not above
of feeling this heartache.
100TC - 19. HomeI once thought I could only be
happy on the other side of the horizon.
Where the grass was greener
and the seas were so much bluer.
Wherever I was…
I wanted to be somewhere else.
Whoever I was with…
they were never the right one.
Whenever I saw the snow,
had snowball fights and
I wished for the white sand
and to take a swim
on tropical beaches.
Happiness was harder
and harder each day.
The horizon was further
and further away.
(It’s just an
and you can never
I realized I can be happy anywhere.
If I call it home.
The grass sometimes is tall
and the sea if far away.
But there’s no place like home
and no one quite like myself.
I miss the snow.
The water here is freezing.
But happiness is so easy.
And the horizon is just a line.
100TC - 50. 5 a.m.Most days
5 a.m. is when I’m asleep
And you’re awake.
Later I’m awake
And you’re asleep.
5 a.m. is “your 10 p.m.”.
When I wake up and it’s night.
It’s when there’s no work
And I’m awake till the morning light.
5 a.m. is when we meet.
On the street, by your door.
We forget all those screens
And it’s like never before.
100TC - 39. AutumnSeason of gold,
with leaves falling down,
stories to be told,
memories of summer
fading with the cold.
Season of silver,
of rainy days…
some rays of sun.
Murmuring of a river
down my street.
Wet socks make me shiver.
Season of red,
the beauty of vintage,
dark grapes for wine.
Lazy morning in bed,
reading my favourite book
as if I’ve never have.
Season of brown,
of aromatic land,
carpets made of leaves,
I drink coffee in silence
Listening to the sounds.
A Sky Full of WordsA million different worlds
In black print
For my mind to sprint
A million escape doors
For me to
Perhaps I'll fall down a rabbit hole,
Or glide through Gion;
Smoke some metaphors,
Or wonder where She has gone.
I might ride on a dragon,
Or explore the thoughts of a dying man;
Maybe I'll meet Mr Darcy,
Or fly with Peter Pan.
I could have a chat with Morrie,
Or wander through Mansfield Park;
I could fight vampires,
Or make a revolution spark.
I might rock out with Lestat
Or philosophise with Louis;
Or maybe I'll go green,
Or hang out with Harry.
Sometimes I feel lost,
And that's okay;
Stories of a million lives
Remind me that
I will be just a story
How To Not Be Hated By Society: A Foolproof Guide1. Don't be anything but white.
When you're black, people will hate you,
because you look ghetto, and uneducated.
But when you're white, people will hate you,
because you look racist, and stuck up, and unapproachable.
And when you're anything in between, people will hate you,
because you're different, but not different enough, and there's no one to stand up for you.
So actually, don't have skin.
2. Let other people decide who you spend the rest of your life with.
When you're gay, people will hate you,
because it's unnatural. You should have control over your mindset, and so should total strangers.
When you're transgender, people will hate you,
because you challenge their religion and deities don't make mistakes, so obviously you did.
Do I even have to explain this? It obviously shouldn't be your own decision who you fall in love with.
Your emotional compatibility and well being doesn't matter at all.
You'd clearly ge
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondly
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.
It Was Never You...It really wasn't...
And I know that I can twist this truth as much as I want...
Whenever I'm sober, when I know I can put up that fake plastic smile;
Just a few formal words that burn like acid from a liar's lips!
"Differences in personality, a divergence in ideals..."
Please, fucking, SPARE ME!
Because when I look in this mirror, I know.
When I see myself looking back at me, I know.
Right here, right in front of my own blackened self;
Those eyes that both reflect and stare into my dingy soul.
I was the problem.
I was the instigator.
I was the perpetrator.
And when I had broken every last bit of her,
I was the one, who let it all fall to pieces.
So please, you don't have to feel sorry for me,
I am a bastard and I've got a very special place in hell waiting for me...
- Word of Chen, Darkest Hour, 16th February 2015
.i trusted you with my porcelain collarbones
and you laid the shards you shattered
across the freezing floor,
in an attempt to put me back together.
but you know, you know,
that masking the once-beautiful parts of me
with rushed and careless taping
won't make me any less broken.
You are LovedI want you to know
That someone cares about you;
And if you can't think of who,
Just know that I do.
If there's something
I can promise you;
It is that you are loved,
And the world would be less
Soldier BoyOne day he came home,
A man given freedom.
He looked in the mirror,
And liked what he saw...
The days wore on,
And he lived his life.
Morning PT was a distant memory,
So too were the shouts of a Sergeant.
Training came thrice at first,
Then twice, then once,
The days wore on...
And life became harder,
Sacrifices were made.
He looked in the mirror one day,
And didn't like what he saw.
Not the pot-bellied man working for a few scraps.
Nor the slovenly fellow who'd forgotten how to clean his kit.
He earned his freedom, but he had lost what he respected...
And the days wore on...
And so he went out running, one fateful day,
His lungs burning with every breath.
Yet despite the pain inside his chest,
He resolved the soldier, would return to his best.
"You've been gone a long time Corporal Chen, what say we go once more around
-Word of Chen, One-shot, 24 February
Taste meTaste me
Lick the poison of my skin
Don't try to compensate
I won't let you win
Drown in me
I taste like the ocean
I'll corrupt you with waves
I'll set you into motion
Don't you love me?
Don't you need me?
I know I don't
Don't you want me?
You're stupid if so
Wreckage of my life
Perfect set for yours to start
I taste like wine
Rich and old
and so goddamn fine
I'll penetrate your veins
and shatter your mind
No reason why
I'd give myself to you
But then again, why would I?
A Letter To The Girl Who Hates Her BodyA letter to the girl who hates her body.
A letter to that girl
Who scrolls through tumblr.
Admiring all of those models.
With thigh gaps that look cute with skirts.
And a waist that you can barely see.
A letter to the girl
Who looks at models,
For their curves.
The way their hips go outwards
And their size D cup breasts.
Please don't look in the mirror,
And hate the girl you see.
That girl is you
And she should be loved unconditionally.
Because you deserve love.
And how much love is not determined on your waist size,
Whether you're chubby or skinny
You're still so very pretty.
You're so perfect.
So for every time you look in that mirror.
And tell yourself you aren't worth it.
That you're arms are too big,
Your hips aren't big enough.
I am a woman.
I am strong.
I have a body like a castle.
A kingdom made just for me.
And I will not destroy that castle,
By trying to starve myself.
By taking brick by brick and dismantling it