I remember your words, the ones forgotten

In a world of ordinary poets —

You were different.

My eyes look for you in places

Where you’ve never been before.

Standing alone with yourself,

Looking out the window with a cigarette and an air of

Bitter conformism.

The wind blows. Leaves fly away into the distance


We are too far to hold hands,

I am too small to ever matter.

Having your words in my heart

Has become enough




Disaster In Bloom

I was searching for a meaning,

Courage and a gun

When I found you 

In the middle of a disaster in bloom,

And every inexplicable detail suddenly made sense


Rain of petals and unfinished poems:

You were light in the late hours of my nights,

But eyes that reflect my face

Will never reflect the twilight ahead of us




Yes, I’ve been writing a lot today.

City Chaos

Sunshine through the sky’s grayness,

Like daggers of light across the clouds.

Graffiti on the walls, a slipping

Sunday evening.

Your name

Wrapped around my neck, like tight hands

I cannot reject — a rope made of ifs and maybes


Alone in the big metropolis,

Facing the last blank canvas —

A white wall and too many people

I could never love

Come and go, forever, in an endless cycle




I don’t want to go to Heaven —
My heart is pleased with
The reality of not living forever.
Since the beginning,
I was meant to become
Less than a memory
Stone gods once adored,
Now left to exist
As unknown deities.
Faces, lifeless
And unloved
I’d rather never be remembered,
I’d rather just cease to be —
I came from oblivion,
I was not born to be afraid of the end

Late Realization

I loved you, but hated your poetry.

Two years ago, I’d say “he’s so avant garde!

Let him speak from his heart,

You just can’t get it” — now I see

I never really liked it, but could never confess



Tuesday Morning Ramblings

Enough of writing about my own misery;

I need a new muse:

A Greek goddess or another blue eyed Brit,

My poetry wants someone to adore


Let’s see if I last two weeks

Without writing about empty bedrooms and

Slow mornings;

High on caffeine and nostalgia




I never could hear your heartbeat,

But loneliness only needed your arms.

The sound of your heart never mattered.

A strand of your hair around my finger,

Your laugh dancing in the messy bedroom.

I told you I would write her name on your skin

And I did.

Pressed against your quiet chest, I wished

You were the one I missed the most


Diluted shades of unknown colors

And new canvas.

Alone with myself, I miss

Your perfume and the love I once had.

You were beautiful and ordinary, wrapped around me

Like a thousand dandelions




The tedious delight of holding your hand

In the middle of a winter afternoon

Without a thing to do, but watch the same old

Boring stuff we used to like —

I wish I had the pleasure of doing all of that




Our love was endless while it lasted

Vinícius de Moraes


I’m always reposting and retranslating this… I need to do the whole thing. I know this line isn’t enough, but it’s the most meaningful.