Archive for the ‘english’ Category

one last sprint


as the old year is about to end
and a new one is about to be born,
i’d like to reserve a minute
before my favorite moment of the yearly cycle
to reflect upon my life.

what a great year it was!
what a great thing it is
to be blessed
with good fortunes,
to have so many plates
on my table now:
i’m eating well and plenty.

so blessed, and not-so humbled:
i am fresh
and so spoiled now,
ready to start everything all over again.

however, although seeking
and getting
everything shiny, glossy and new is good,
after so many gained things,
i forgot how to celebrate loss.

thus, at this final moment,
right before popping the champagne bottles,
i’d like to praise all the things i lost
this year.

from the kilos i shed
to the coins i tossed in fountains,
from the earrings that disappeared
to the keys forgotten,
i believe i lost everything i had to lose.

it wasn’t always enjoyable,
but it was
what it had to be.

sometimes, i lost good things
and valuable time,
but it all served as lessons.

i suffered, but learned
from the loss
of valuable things,
but also am very grateful
for the excesses i threw away
and the not-so good people
that i left behind for good.

so, goodbye, bad memories!
adieu, long lost lovers,
disconnected feelings,
painful reminders,
toxic companions,
midnight anxieties,
incomplete projects.

failures and more failures,
dreadful thoughts –
see you never!

all that had to go,
is now gone.
i lost what i had to lose
and am now better,
am now ready
to gain what’s good again.

so, thank you,
for a great 2017.


happy new year, everyone!
see you in january.
practice good over evil, and keep up the AMAZING work.

all best,



have a vengeful little Christmas


(and a violent new year!)

it’s the end of the year,
so have some compassion.
think of jesus, or some other
merciful god,
and practice good over evil.

however, do it only to people who don’t know you
and that you don’t know,
who don’t expect it,
who have no sanity,
who have no roof over their heads.

everyone you DO know
is sitting their fats butts
on their comfortable, warm couches,
sipping expensive wine,
eating finely aged cheese,
talking shit about other people.

these so called “good people”
will skin you alive
and don’t need a single
thought on your head,
nor a moment of your mercy.

those “family values” motherfuckers
are all snakes,
and are never concerned about your well-being,
your mental health,
or even if you even live or die…

thus, all those “friendly” fakes
and phonies
is to have their teeth
kicked in.



there are always rituals.

and night rituals,
and daily dances;

you brush your teeth
at 22:45,
right after you shower,
right before bed,
i see you through the foggy mirror
as I walk to the kitchen
to get a glass of water
that’ll wake me up
a bit before dawn.

these scenes
bore me out of my mind
and others,
they save me
from drowning
in this ocean of silence,
in this universe
of anxiety
that’s contained
and crammed
my skull.

in the end,
i’m glad
that we’re here.

i can’t sit in one place



hello, friends. sorry for the quick interruption on poetics… just wanted to inform you all that, apart from this blog, I’ve started a new side project on a new media that I am super excited about. this in no way means that I am closing this blog (I’m still a poet at heart), but podcasting is new and fresh and I’m super excited about it, and to share it with you all.

my podcast is in my native language (ptBR) though and it’s called Allowed Cast. you can find it on soundcloud here.

and yeah, I know many of you don’t speak Portuguese, so you probably won’t understand what we are saying (sorry!), but good thing is that we also create music playlists that everyone can enjoy. you can find these playlists here, and play them at the gym or parties or just while chillin’.

it’s a great project, I swear. thanks for the attention. now, back to our normal poetry schedule!

– Flavs

all the lost things


all i wanted was for you to mark me. i wanted you to bare your teeth at me and bite me, bruise my skin in black and blue from my neck to my thighs, and my spine. i wanted you to have me whole, to claim me as some ancient thing from immemorial times. i wanted you to grab me, put your arms around me, encase me.
(i always liked your weight on me.)

i wanted you to write on me so i could tattoo over the words and keep you on me at all times, so i could always touch with my fingertips what i meant to you, all those sweet things – i wouldn’t even regret it after everything was over between us.
(it would inevitably be over.)

“would you want to look forever at it? for other people to see it? why would you want to have it? it was never meant to be!” you’d ask me [if we still spoke to one another]. you’d call me mad, for sure, and hopeless and strange.

but really, how could i mind? how worse can it be to show on the outside what i somehow still feel? how can words to the world be any worse than the thoughts i carry in my head everyday, then the memories everyone has in their souls?

(it’s not painful. here, look at all these poems i already made for you. it is a process.)

a tattoo, in the end, is just a picture: a remembrance of a thing that will always be, a past that was a promise of everything, something i want to show everyone because, wether it failed or not, wether you like it or not, talk about it or not, it is part of who i am. your past is my past.
(the threads of our lives are entwined. bygones are bygones, but it’s all a happy place now, a cozy home where we once lived in.)

i am not ashamed and neither should you be. i like who i am becoming, and you have a share in it. accept it.
(write to me. let’s talk.)

on my notebook


fleeting moments,
a fleeting thing.

i realize
you never left me
a single note
written by hand.

i don’t know
how your cursive looks,
i can’t even imagine
how it is displayed on paper.

not even on my birthday…
i didn’t get a card.
i got a smile
with watery eyes,
but not a little piece of paper i can cherish,
and keep in a box of beloved memories.

in fact
i think i have never
you physically write anything.

and that’s sad
really freaking sad,
because words
are my thing,
are the memories i can keep,
are the scribbles
i’d like
to safeguard forever,
maybe even tattoo on my skin.



our love lasted
for two hundred
and forty five
text messages,
traded pictures,
endless pining
on dark nights
and thirty-nine
undercover kisses.

long distance


you just keep saying
“as soon as I’m back,
I’ll come and see you”,
but what’s the good
in visiting
if you are never staying?

how long must a lover
make a bed
if no one’s ever laying in it?

how long must a lover
live alone;
always a one,
never a two?

tell me: how is it good
to live a fairy tale
of messages on your timeline,
and never – ever –
hold you in my arms
nor call you mine?



after a long period
of tranquil nights
i dreamed of you again.

i dreamed i kissed
the column of your neck,
and later,
your supple lips.

i didn’t wake up startled,
nor shaking;
not even angry.

i just rose from the bed
and started the coffee maker.
then i got dressed,
got on the bus to work etc.

however, throughout
the day
i couldn’t shake off
one single thing:
a phantom feeling
of your hand
holding mine.

(did you dream of me?
did you feel it too?)

weight in gold


i am sorry if it seems
like i never listen
or start conversations,
or if you feel my gifts
are consolations
for my absence.

i am bad at saying
what I mean;
baring my soul
and revealing my words
was never really my thing.

it’s all family heritage,
as are the rings
that adorn your fingers.
(as are the silent gestures
that you can’t seem to hear.)

i’ll cover your collarbones
in necklaces though,
as if you are goddess –
i’ll stud them with stones
for every word i keep in,
i promise.

i am sorry if i am a show-er
not a say-er.

you want love notes
and adoring quotes,
but i’ll give you platinum
until you look like an actress.

for i can’t help it
if i like how the silver
shines against your skin:

the image is akin
to the sliver
of light that enters our bedroom

when the night is quiet
and the air feels right,
in the rite of silence
that blesses our affair.