Post Scriptum
P.S.
Pieces of paper and squeezing hands
Tiny pleasures, tiny sorrows
But what about all the notes
I was too scared to be?
Fear in my head
And memories in my eyes
On repeat.
On repeat.
P.S.S.
Tears running down my cheeks
And the hand that wipes it away
Is cold and small, but sweet.
When I feel hollow,
Make me whole again.
Clockwork ticking,
And your face, your hair, your eyes
Keep me sane.
P.S.S.S.
Is what I'm thinking wrong?
To hold a chick and call it friend?
Is what I see all imagined?
The scrambling eyes and drumming heart?
Please, I beg you, don't be just another.
All these thoughts for you, my Brazilian drumbeat.
But do the things I see fill your dreams as well?
The insecurity and doubt
Locks the Post Scriptum away.
But screaming to get out,
It overwhelms me.
It condemns me.
To you.
Or not you.
But never in between.
Do You Like Me?
Cafuné: It doesn't have an english translation but I wish it did because yall have some luscious curls.
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