Time
Yesterday I was twenty two
Today I was eighteen
Tomorrow I'll be twelve
In a year I'll be eighty
I sit at the centre of the clock
It ticks with every breath
Past, future and present to me
Easy to love
It's easy to love me in heels
With my hair done and my eyes winged
It's easier to love me when I utter a practiced laugh
When I look pretty and perfect
It's easier to love my reflection
But who loves me at 1 am?
When my make-up is smudged and hair messy
When I'm painting my nails into the rainbow
When I snort and sob dressed in shirts three sizes too big
Who loves the authentic me?
Who would be crazy to see me morphing and still love me
To lay on the bed as I wash away my layers
Who'd wipe my eyes and nose with sweet kisses
And gently massage my scalp when I haven't washed my hair
Who'd listen to my rambling over an obscure subject in ungodly hours?
Who would love real me?
Abelinha & Borboletinha
The golden and pearl necklace dangled from her neck
She told me it was a bee
I thought it a butterfly
Sweet little lovely child
Too naïve to think it a warning
Troublesome turmoil announced openly
Bees sting my dear, matters not that they perish
The pink gem eyes served as fantasy
Innocence in beauty to lure the prey
Abelinha
Borboletinha
The golden delicacy made to be precious
The gold was only a layer over the steel
Once soft metal became strong to the touch
Overtly lacking in everything but your words
I admit my mistake
It was no bonny butterfly
It became a stinger bee
I allowed it to sting for its pretty wings
Não era uma abelinha
Era uma abelha
Uma abelha posando como borboleta
YOU ARE READING
Saudade
PoesíaSaudade /saʊˈdɑːdə/ noun: saudade; plural noun: saudades (especially with reference to songs or poetry) a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia that is supposedly characteristic of the Portuguese or Brazilian temperament A gathering of my po...
