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