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.
acrimonyi have spent too long loving you
like a store shutting down, slashing my prices,
hoping there’s something here you might
want to buy before i go under.
this is not your fault. i was told that loving
desperately and wholly was light years
better than loving practically, but you
have spent four years loving me like i am a siege
and you are worried that your fortress’s walls
are not high enough. i think i mean
that you love me cautious; you love me
most nights i waste hours not looking at my phone
and trying to remind myself how much i am
worth without you by my side. the numbers
never add up. maybe this is because
you have never been constant enough to be an equation.
look here, i have it on good authority
that universes exist in my skin and stars have died
so that i could live. stars have died and i have
survived and you will not be the one to make me wish
my soul was nothing but a black hole.
i can’t shake the thought that you are my novel and
i am y
He Wore My Makeup AgainAt least it wasn't a dress this time,
but I know that my boyfriend
has something to hide.
When I'm not looking, he takes my purse,
uses my make up to cover the hurts.
Dabs his fingers into my foundation,
taps it on his face, with hands
as skilled as a physician.
The brush he rubs down the angles of his cheek.
He should be thankful that he's
the same complexion as me.
I've never seen him with a bare face,
whenever he's with me,
the make up will stay.
At least he hasn't used my lipstick
yet, I don't know how I would
feel about him adorned in red.
And my eye shadow, he seems to leave alone,
it seems he uses my make up,
just for an even tone.
Perhaps he'll progress to using the rest,
and then I suppose then, he'll start
wearing a dress.
I guess it's slow, this painful transition.
I just want him to say it,
he's already got my attention.
I get it he's a cross dresser, he has to be right?
Isn't that what men who want to
be women describe themselves like?
I think I'll confront him about his f
AlcoholicYour tux is the color
of a coal miner’s face
after a long, hard day of work-
something you’ve never
had to experience
yet you talk as though
you’re just as worn out;
your trivial chit-chat
is turning syrupy with every sip,
although your sentences
aren’t getting any sweeter
you grab another glass
of the effervescent liquid,
hoping the sea of people
will turn to black coal,
and it will be dark enough
for you to fall asleep
as you walk tipsily to the bathroom,
the overpaid opera singer
belts her last high note- a bit too high;
your crystal glass shatters
into a thousand pieces
And with it, you shatter too.
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.
GayI am gay.
I'm not a disease, I'm not a problem
I'm not an affliction
I don't need treatment.
I don't need help
I'm not sick
I'm not confused
I'm not a sin.
I am gay.
I'm your daughter
Your co worker
A complete stranger
I am gay.
I need love, just like you
I need smiles
I need support
I need a hug
I need a friend
I need a family
I need acceptance
I need understanding
I need you
I am gay.
I know what love is
I know what pain is
I know what hate is
I know what life is
I am gay.
And I need you to love me
The same way you loved me before you knew
I am gay.
And I have experienced hate
From more people than just you
I am gay.
And I wont change.
I wont give up.
I wont back down.
I wont pretend.
I wont lie.
I wont deny.
I wont hide.
I wont hurt.
I am gay.
And that's okay.
things to take to college1. between the two of us, we have eaten miles
of pavement, we have spent months pressing
the same four wheels into the ground.
whenever you need to, follow those tracks again.
they will lead you back home.
2. there are songs i only figured out how to sing
with you beside me. even now, the words
sound awkward in my throat.
the notes are wrong. i’m not sure what makes
something sacred, but words like that
i only know how to sing with a quiet
reverence i can’t seem to find anymore.
3. i am good at writing poems that convince
people to stay. i don’t know how to write
a poem to someone that i know is going to leave
no matter what i say.
4. you have faith in spades. and i’m not talking about
god. i’m talking about that tangible faith in
humanity, the faith that always makes you
ask me how my day was, even if the answer
is always the same.
5. to be truthful, i don’t want you to stay.
some people are made for the great unknown.
6. we have watched more sunset
xciv. you are the stardust between my sheetssilently our bodies
meld together in waves
of hot and cold as our
arms and legs tangle
like comets dancing at
the feet of Orion,
your soft and lecherous
lips sweep across my
stinging cheeks as your
delicate fingers work orbits
around my hips leaving
stardust trails in their wake;
we are two bodies bound
to collide like the brilliant
colors of the northern lights
for we are cosmic lovers:
you are my shining galaxy
and I am a black hole--
I will swallow you whole.
I won't cryyou can ask me how I am.
that's okay I won't cry
I don't know how I am, I can't correctly describe it.
Other than to say there's a constant ache in my chest
and a tightness in my throat,
with swelled up emotions sitting somewhere at the back of my eyes.
You should be careful what you say
but then I can't even explain what triggers these feelings
so say what you like,I'll just react in which ever way,
cos I have no controll now.
The way I feel everyday, has become so familiar to me,
since I lost him.
Sometimes it's so hard to bear,
the constant ache in my chest threatens to crush me
It's hard to breath.
The tightness im my throat burns,
I want to wail out loud my inarticulate utterances of grief
and release all my pent up emotions.
But don't worry you can ask me how I am.
It's okay, I won't cry.
Written by Suzanne karbach
21st may 2015
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