I feel the pillow under my head
Make it even heavier.
Its plasticity
Conforming to my skull
Bending to my inert thoughts
Remind me of my own distortion.

My space is liquid
Yet my body is solid,
My intention to melt my body
Vaporized my space:
They are always out of phase.

In mismatches I keep finding other sides of me
In my dreams (I can't hardly remember them)
I am all the strength I want to be,
But to rest is a burden,
As my pillow
Always remember
My own flaccidity

Nothing produces more
Than obligation,
Nothing produces poorer
Than obligation.

I feel my world moving
I feel obligated to keep moving
But that can only come from
My own need to keep moving.

The problem with circles
Is that they never have a begin or an end,
Yet we inadvertently keep looking for them
In a naive effort to delegate
Vain motivations.

Things we only learn
So when they happen again,
Too late,
We regret
We didn't notice them earlier.

I need it,
More than richness,
More than butter and bread,
More than wine and dope,
And I don't know why I need it.

The addiction
Is justified,
I've been told
To be the future,
To be the hope,
To be the hardworking success,
To be free while stuck with desires
Of grandness and achievements.

The cure is yet to be found
Probably in places I can't reach:
Things I have never lived,
The forced detachment of starving,
The definite destination of a free fall,
The coldness of a star roof.

The diagnosis is clear:
To have everything
Leads to a quest
Effortless to the unreachable.

Sometimes we just go
We leave because it is the only thing,
The only reason,
The only way
To run from running,
To retire,
To rest
For staying consumes much,
For the songs and its lyrics
Are just deceiving
Symbols never to be cracked
Or just outdated.

But leaving suspends
The actions of a change
Everything remains,
But at a distance,
In strange places
Of a mazing memory.

To leave is to accept
Things as things,
Unchanged by abandonment.

But, sometimes,
It is the only reason
When all other reasons
Completely dragged power out of
Our will to stay.

Poem yourself
For nothing expects nothing from you.
You can only be
Rhyme, rhythm and content.
Everything else
Is superflouous.

I call friends
Those who
I have been drunk with,
But not only that -
That'd be too easy.

To be my friend
One has to have seen me
Dressed in womens' clothes,
Or have watched Juno for the first time,
Or have watched Lion King over and over,
Or have seen bright new colors together,
Or crossed an ocean with me,
Or shared during 5 years dreams of a lifetime,
Or dragged me out of a downward spiral,
Or have been invited to my parents' house,
Or new it had no locks (most of the time),
Or have played 16-bit games with me,
Or have me sleeping out of home,
Or traded a party for a school work,
Or fought with a friend to leave to the party,
Or took me for a brother, and still does it,
Or sheltered me when I was desperate,
Or took me in for a job,
Or partnered in an enterprise with me,
Or shared all toys with me,
Or hold me when I was all cracks,
Or adopted street cats with me,
Or have known me for more than 25 years
(and endured me at least 50 days a year),
Or introduced me to movies and music,
Or expanded my horizons with philosophy,
Or criticized my guitar playing,
Or have been a sister to me,
Or have jumped from a moving car,
Or shared a 16-people house with me,
Or have shown me underground culture,
Or have played in a bar with me while 5 years old,
Or have played football (Brazilian-like) at least 30 times,
Or have changed a name for a Pokémon,
Or have lived with me in a hunted house,

Every bit I am
Somehow, I owe it to you.