damaged

his love is
lying in my lap
hoping I will
never stand up

so many books I'd like you to read

the constant feeling
in the back of your mind
of being in the wrong place
at the wrong time

how on earth will you be free
if you doom the road
before you reach the end?
now shut up for a second
come here, kiss me
I know better ways to occupy your head

credence

call me a poet
or a lunatic
I prefer both

the war in your mind

do you wanna know the place cops don’t go?

where every colour can exist at the same time

the place where there's no limits, no rules, no laws, no moms, no dads
no censourship and no borderlines

no pointed fingers except the ones you point yourself

no complaining neighbours, no curfews, no outside help

your mind is the place no one can hold back

and as everything changes, your mind

is the only thing you truly have

fuck are we lonely

but in there we got so many friends
and the voices wake us every morning
reminding you to attend

now did you let that war happen

because you thought you deserved it?

that’s what happens to good people, isn’t it?

you let your men dress up as soldiers and stand up in line

you let the houses get bombed and the women cry

you let your thoughts fight and the war was so vivid

no one understood just yourself ‘cause you were in it

and as you tried to tell all the people on the outside

they told you it’s nothing ‘cause ‘its only your mind’

no, dear,

they are the ‘only’ here

make peace and let your thoughts be still

no one will hear you, love, only you will

so tell the soldiers to sit down and think

light them a spliff, give them something warm to drink

make them remember what the war was about

then tell them to sit there until they talk it out

little house in valongo

I've come to this place
where fear exists
to stare it in the face
to turn it into art

hours are short, very short
the storm hasn't stopped for two days
branches hit the windows
I write poetry to its scratching

twilight comes early, winds change with it
at seven I bring in all my things
my book, my smokes, my jacket
I bring in everything the night might eat
and I go inside

lock the door and look out
as the forest becomes black
I don't see a thing
it will stay that way until the morning
nights are longer here,
longer than anything

so when the light flickles (and it does)
there's a fear of being forgotten
a guilt of being lost
every little feeling
becomes a chord, a note
a melody to sing

this is a sort of happiness
turning myself into music

I am so lonely I could break

how many nights since me

how many nights since me?
how many sleeping pills?
how many memories blank?

how many texts in draft?
how many erotic dreams?
how many strangers in your bed?

how many secret fall-backs?
how many unmade phone calls?
how many suicide attempts?

how many insta-stalks,
how many profile-checks,
ending in log-outs instead

let him live with it

girl, don't tell him
of the things you did
he might beg in his sleep
but never admit

let him think the worst, thinking
there must be a twist
wishing he could tie
a chain 'round your wrist

let him lie awake,
struggling with fantasies
wondering if the truth
gets as bad as this

girl, don't tell him
of the things you did
just let him go mad
he'll learn to live with it

where do you think my songs come from

my love, you envy
my strength to head out alone
you envy this freedom
mistaking it for something out of this world,
something complete

do you really think one who is free
doesn't get lonely?
wherever I go
it's only my loneliness which is real
that is what I'm dancing with

where else do you think
all my songs come from

I need to stop reading Beauvoir

I have a problem with the man
which lingers
on the line between
absolute attraction
and undefinable disgust

to be so drawn to him
but so repelled by his nature

to enjoy the way his eyes wander over me
and then afterwards - the feeling of being used
before his hands have even touched me

how the same thing I want him to do
could be the same thing
that will make me never look at him again

it's something about
this animalistic urge
which I still haven't learned
to fully control
to fully accept

his need for my body
is so obviously floating
in obliviousness

he doesn't even try to understand it
and meanwhile

how it flatters me to feel beautiful
but frustrates me to be seen

one night in Boavista

I came here asking nothing from you

wandering these streets
I have no plans of hijacking them
passing every window
no plans to pull the curtains

oh dear,

what are you scared of?
that I'd demand you to be fire
throw myself at you, kiss you wild
step into your new life
beg you to
continue the way we left it
sneak in and seduce you
burn you down to ashes?

you must understand
I came here asking nothing from you

do you think I would
enter your flat, run straight in with dirty shoes
throw my clothes on the floor
and my body on your bed
jump up and down
or simply spread my legs
saying "I'm staying, baby"
even if you insist on something else?

oh dear,

how terrified you are
when you got no reason to
I'm not who I used to be
I'm simply passing through

I chose to come alone
'cause I have lonely things to do
you must understand, I came here
asking nothing from you

meetings

the thing with travelling alone
is you always meet 
new people as you go
he's been on the road 
for six months in his red car
and I have no plans, just an idea
of reaching the mountains
before it gets dark
now we're roadtrippin' together
him, me and the smiling girl from Quebec
up hills, to where it's greener
heading north, maybe Porto
unless something else
looks prettier along the way

alfama

into alleys, into gardens
take me further, find me humming
I'm an octopus cut in six
that is how poetry breaths
I walk these streets
spilling ink on every corner

heading for mountain roads

let there be mountains
nothing that upsets me
crooked cruising
little roads up up up
backdrops, sidedrops
green like lush
down there somewhere
swelling shores
wide awake open skies
let there be
some people but not too many
like no boys pulling my hair
and no vendors selling me stuff
just driving on roads
feeling of a rocking chair
meditative swings
driving up up up
like in lucid dreams
the greenest of lush
maybe somewhere along the road, we stop
a horizon worthy a smoke
maybe a drink
of that bottle of rum
because he also drinks kraken
he bought it in Romania
maybe

what my days look like

if you wonder, my love

what my days look like

let me tell you of the fantasies

that make this place real

you see, I pretend I live here

that is how I leave bed, that's how I get dressed

putting on fresh socks, washing my teeth

I pretend I live here

and has lived here for long

I pretend
that the grandma next door

who fries the codfish

smiles through the open window

knows my name

she's Ana Luísa
and I borrow sugar from her

sometimes, I take out her dog

I pretend

I’m just about to meet someone

that I have a studio space

in the neighbourhood up the hills

that I make enough money

to eat a bowl of caracóis by the miradour at sunset

I pretend

I know the musicians that

play on the corner to Rua Dom Pedro

that they invite me to sing

to live samba nights each Sunday

I pretend I

fix my hair in salons
that it turns copper and gold

that the sun here makes me braver 

that I buy my groceries in Portuguese

and come home 

to my carpet, my little flowers

my curtain, my creaking floor

I unpack and pretend

to stay forever these next days

what else do you wonder

when you wonder, my love?

in between it all

I remember

the way you make

my legs tremble

the way you make
my voice shake

so don't worry

if in the other moments
I pretend I don't know you
that I'm just about to meet you
in this other life

I would invite you over for coffee
sit on my patio
wave to Ana Luísa
knowing she will tell me later
how pretty that boy was

first meeting with Lisboa

first meeting with Lisboa, 09.38 in the morning

I wake up here in this

new place

looking out at the sun

glittering the sea

my first thought

after it gets dark

who will this city be?

will it taste of salt

will it be warm, sweaty

sugar cane, orange moon

will it be hips rolling, tight rhythms, welcome shots

this evening, will it be drinking?

will it offer me drugs
will sheeps pretend to be wolves

where the curving hill meets the ocean
will the evening walk me home when I'm done

or cat call me when I leave

will this city put me to bed safely

or hungrier then before?

will it bring me music
fingers on strings
claps between hands
harmonies in perfect thirds

will it bring me thirsty voices
wet from drinks
or will it bring quiet streets, solitude
my footsteps like little needles

dropped in silence

once the light is out

how much I wonder who you are, Lisboa

that which you become
when nothing is forbidden

that is the city
I am most terrified and most excited
to finally meet

........

the next day, the morning after 

how did it feel, then
wake and stretch and think

I found myself a group (or they found me)

music after midnight

homemade ginjinha

took me to a club of red silk

a former whore house

now DJ:s playing Max Romeo

projected images

of Hedy Lamarr and golden frogs

thought of other women I love

barely dancing

someone told me his story

I told him I have poetry to write

and went home before midnight

memorised the alleys

took the right turns

proud when I made it inside the door

quiet now

except from my head ringing

the room smelled

of sunflowers and smoke

threw my shoes on the ocean floor

fell asleep with my clothes on

one day the moon

one day the moon put on a red dress

and came down to earth

only for a drink, to try forbidden things -

it’s the place to go, she’d heard

but down here things are different

and her light made people blind

traffic crashed, volcanos blew

and peace turned into fights

so then they tried to catch her

tried to strip away her pride

yeah, the people tried to burn her

for the same reason she is still alive

did no one teach them

you can’t take the magic out

of a witch’s spine

’cause if they get too close

she’ll just head up home

and keep shining

from the sky