Vez ou outra sinto-me como uma nuvem:
Instável,
Em constante mutação.

Fruto da projeção alheia
Faço-me do que queres que eu seja.
O que queres que eu seja
Agora?

Nunca me satisfaço
Com o que sou agora.

No que me transmutarei
Agora?

E agora?

I often find
       myself in
                situations
      where I feel
                   as if I'm running
out of time.
          
           but I've realized that I'm
only seventeen...
      
              And time is all
      I
       really
           have.

She was the type who would comfort her attacker.
All memories of love were postcards for her wall,
as she slipped undetected through life, collecting
bus tickets, old receipts and post-it notes,
all with an atypical tolerance for red wine.

She spent her days lying in waste, lying in wait
for the moment that life would catch up with
her beautiful mind. She gave love to him
in magnetised letters and pillow talk,
but she was forever replied to in silence.

She would reinvent herself in hangover light,
before ordering take-out, and spending
the week inside. She cursed her translucent skin
in the sunlight, and yet she glowed in the summer,
as the breeze unsettled the hem of her skirt.