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Nunca vou pronunciar essas três palavras
Isso não significa que não existam
Mas quando as tento dizer em voz alta
Nada sai dos meus lábios além do ar.

Nunca vou dizer estas três palavras
Decidi fazer disso uma regra
Como Maria Madalena
Não sou uma boba amante.

Nunca vou pronunciar essas três palavras
Mas isso não significa que não seja verdade.
Não vou ficar calada, nunca tenha medo, mas por enquanto,
você não sabe " nada de nada".
I was helping my friend and fellow poet, Everado, with his in English and in return he translated a couple of my shorter poems into Portuguese.
Whisper,
on the surface of the crockery
the fairy porcelain
and Satie's piano.
Rinse
unconfessed wishes
and, among the cutlery,
I say goodbye
to Gymnopédie.
There is always an air of water
in the words that tell me
when the morning ends
and in the brightness of the dishes,
the same colour
of sorrow.
A poem by my friend Everardo that I translated into English. I love how he sees so much beauty in the most mundane things.
yelhsa May 22
I cannot remember the first time I had a crush on a boy. It is better that way... Oh wait, I am trying to change, that phrase was a lie. I was in seventh grade and his name was, Everardo, Julian, Andrew, Brandon, Bryan, Anthony, Jamal, Christian, Kevin, some twins named Daniel and Austin, I can’t forget my favorite Jackson. One thing they don’t tell you is, when your molested you either hate men or you become promiscuous. I found comfort in talking to all kinds of boys, before I met ‘what’s her face.’ Even after high school boys turned into men. I wanted to be loved; I wanted to feel appreciated. I hate love because for me, I feel love so intensely. Sometimes I just can’t, I don’t know how to deal with this. I have read a lot of articles and gone to therapy. They say borderlines struggle with relationships; or you can google How to Get Away from Someone with BPD. Is it wrong for me to think, to be loved, I had to give up some parts of my body? Maybe... Yet, I curve these men like no other day. Sometimes I'm mean to my men, I hate them, but I love ALL my men, very deeply. Older men, some call it a fetish. I am also into ****. Why is a thirteen-year-old thinking like a grown woman? I am not sure but my therapist at that time thought it was obscured. I can be clingy, maybe that’s why they leave me? I attract a certain kind of demon, a B cluster member. I hate you, but please don’t leave me!
A poem from a chapbook I wrote.

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