That story
Could have changed my life
But, I know that ever
I will have memories of her again.

Because the writers are like that
And the ideas are like that.
If you do not have a keyboard,
Or a piece of paper
At the right time
At the right place,
They fly,
Fly like napkins in a
Thunderstorm.

And if successful,
Some fragment of what is left,
Will surely be cut in pieces,
Incomplete,
Whitout beginning,
Without end.
Because that moments, yes,
They are unique.

So, like that
Go the ideas;
The moments;
The time;
The possibilities;
And the napkins.

Do you know what i hate in the old?
Their ways of not seeing the new
Their ways to not let the past
Their ways of conserving what they think about the correct

I also hate to think that, sometimes,
The young people get old
Too soon,
And that time builds wise's,
But time thrown out
Constructs dead weights
Walking.

But they are not all.
Sometimes it is possible to repair
In some people,
A spirit who
Just born
Again.

The beauty of life is that
It is renewed
And then,
The new and the old
Intertwine.

I Believe
While poor in spirit
Argues fiercely
About the novel,
The ballad,
Or elections

While mismatched souls
Discusses
About the fight of the night,
The soccer match, or
The race on Sunday


While ******* with
"Class"
drank cross-legged
And open necklines

While intellectuals
Holding coffee with the pinky,
Influenced voters,
Or explained ideas

As the world be sad
Diving standards,
My friends lost their pose.
After all,
They just wanted
Have fun.

And
They danced,
They shouted,
Discussed,
And they laughed.
They laughed that bunch of problems,
Because they knew that
Smiles, was the best medicine
In the absence of solutions.

To fix this,
Felt disgust of those vile beings,
The go through life
Unassuming.
Or maybe,
feel only
Annihilating a pity.
It was weird, but
At the same time,
It made sense.

The world still can be saved
For a few.
You can not believe,
Nietzsche can not believe,
God can not believe,
But I believe.

What else generates laughs
It's what comes of sadness,
It would be funny
If it were not sad.

What is most impressive
It's what everyone already knows,
It would be funny
If it were not sad.

What most distresses people
Are the consequences of love,
It would be funny
If it were not sad.

What generates more income for poets
Are the tragedies reports
Plucking joy of sad people,
It would be funny
If it were not a Poem.

I'm a broken heart
That is reconstructed every morning
So the night,
Can break it once again.

I am a broken heart,
Who prefers to be seen
As a fragile object,
Than be hardened as the cities.

I am a broken heart
With all necessary support
To be rebuilt
With its new scars.

I am a throbbing and alive heart party,
That can still break several times,
And prove that
After all,

Love exists.

I was a child and had the world in
My hands
- I could do whatever i wanted with him.

Today, I am an adult and the world has me
In his hands
I still have to know
What he will do
With me.

I need literature to escape
Because sometimes the world
Enjoy giving us a beating.
And then, we wonder,
Did we offended God?
Or are just unlucky tides?

I need literature to escape
I do not know from where, maybe
From myself,
But I need it to fight
With these boring and stressful routines of a common survivor,
While people are diving
In old conceptions
Thinking about how everything seems so new.

I need literature to escape,
Because,
Just as poetry
Literature exists to make us forget ...
From where even?

The implosion of myself
Saturday nights reading crime and
Punishment
The whispering moans issued the streets
no way out
Dumb cries arose from behind the walls of
the alleys
Don't justified
My literature
or even
The loneliness that
I feel in my chest.

All this
Just helps me to believe
That
Nothing matters
Until you
Reframe
The
Nothing.

I want to be strong enough
To don't need
Belong to the same place
My entire life.


I want to be a faded star
With a twinkle in his chest
Singing and dancing
When the rain hits.


I want to be from the world,
I want to be metamorphosis,
Rhythms and cultures,
Romances and tragedies


I want the surprise
And the madness
Which stands in a European
Knowing Latin America


I want to lie down and listen
What say the constellations
On a cold day,
Which  no one beside.


I want the luck of a love not found,
To live in the eternal search
For the other half of the orange.


Exploring cultures
Exploring hearts
Exploring the world
And their variables.


And if I ever find,
I wish that i had lived long enough
To know that there are
Anything else
To search.

She said me it was Latin,
But carrying the whole world on your shoulders
She was carrying a colorful backpack;
And her blon curls,
Which shone in consistency with the sun.

She told me she loves come and go,
Ana that was why
She run all the world:
To be an embodiment of love.

Could speak spanish,
Rolled in English,
And had ease in Portuguese.

"I know the languages, -
She said.
It was a little thin,
But her curves,
They you can’t ignore.

Her freckles made a unique style;
His mouth exuded a charm
When it comes to expressing themselves,
And she kisses anyone
As if in love.

I wanted to bring she home
With me.
To have a home, and
All those things
But she was like love
Had to come and go there.
That’s why,
I Could only bring she
Into my chest.
And since the,
She lives
In two
Distinguished
Places.

I could never see a book as a literary critic sees
I can never watch a film with the look of a movie buff
I can never hear the beating of a heart with the ear of a cardiologist

Many can.
Many lose so much for so little,
And like many others,
Never get carried away by hedonism.

And that's why there's so coldness in the ordinary men,
That's why so many become cranky, frustrated or
Suicides.

And that distance that the "never" gives me
It's what keep me away from boredom
And from the smallness, that both
Bothers me.

In some point we are all the same.
We are all the same empty bottom
In an old navy jeans.

Seriousness, maturity, composure and hopelessness: assumptions of an adult man metamorphosed into a beast. It is usually said that no serious man practices certain acts, but, the truth is that no serious man lives.

The concept of integrity has been misrepresented, and today what makes us whole is the same thing that makes us stupid. Men who overrate for seriousness and integrity become dour, sad, "decent men". Composure deprives us of the flame that feeds the soul called inconstancy.

There are also those who confuse good humor and sarcasm with constraints that merit respect. There are those who preach that you must be ruthless and never show weakness. There are those who say that all you need is a lot of pain and a person on the other side of the phone refusing your emergency call.

But it is these same men who commit suicide because they have reined in. These are the ones who keep the world in an eternal free fall. Seriousness is the cowardice of not laughing at the ironies and the bad bits that life puts us. More than good image, seriousness deprives us of life. And that's why a lot of people die convincing themselves that roughness is a victory.
Fool is the one who believes that seriousness presupposes respect, and kills wittyness. For even though most understand it this way, being conniving with it is stupid.

Matheus Peleteiro

We grew up
And I remember that you used to
Contemplate dead stars that have not lost their shine
And to say that the Three Sisters were the most beautiful in the universe
because they were always together
- like us.

I remember that I used to delight in the smell of your strawberry hydrant
which you passed through your entire body
and I worried that I might miss a few words
and make you don't talk to me for the rest of the week.

I remember that you devoured books,
ran like a lumpy cheetah
and was always inciting me through trivial provocations.

We grew up,
we were hit by the ****** scent of life
and we smell the money
which makes us breathe as much as oxygen.
Killer minds camouflaged by coaching speeches caught us by the wayside
and the voices of the alleys taught us that to be a conqueror in truth was the worst way.

We could have aged, but
We stopped at the time.
Now, we live in this eternal adulthood
where we put a foot on a social footwear,
and we leave the other barefoot in the land of never.
We do not know the laws of the now and the laws of the future.
We forged our own Law.
We have no ideologies or identities,
but we are everything
to each other.
For us,
every day are punishments and gifts.
We are our own executioners and liberators.

But, several times,
in moments of nostalgia and shame
I wanna be that stupid boy again
sitting on the beach by his side
listening to Jack Johnson
while boys shake giving their first kisses
and the girls dream with a soulmate.

"You tell me i'm full of certainties,
But i'm made by my own understandings
And although it may appear to be sure,
In my truth
It has dubt.

And that's why when it comes ahead
It does not appear as an imposition,
But always as a possible new way of seeing."

Matheus Peleteiro