Varanda

Sempre que a morte aflige alguém próximo a mim,
Eu volto no tempo,
Para aquele dia chuvoso,
Na varanda da casa da praia,
Fitando o vazio da minha própria existência.
Tentando, no auge dos meus 10 anos,
Remodelar as peças quebradas da minha vida.
Pois quando ele se foi, uma parte de mim morreu junto,
O pedaço que não tinha noção da própria mortalidade se dissolveu.
Então, toda a vez que alguém novo se vai,
Eu volto para aquela varanda,
Segurando os soluços,
E lutando para achar sentido,
Encontrar motivos plausíveis,
De eu ter ficado para trás.

Pretty ever after

Oh, I wish,
I wish, I wish, I wish.
I wish I could love my body,
As much as I envy others,
As feral as I hate myself,
As beautifully as I admire pinup models from the 50's.

I hope one day,
I can at least accept my own curves.
They are my only eternal company,
And my future grave.

So if once and for all,
I tell you that I hate them,
Understand,
Society teached me to reach for perfection,
Told me it was possible,
But that I'm not it,
No matter how much I try.

Beauty is a lie sold in shelves,
In TVs, magazines and social media.
It's an idea,
The idea that you are never pretty enough.
Never good enough to be loved by yourself.
Buy this, do that, new products and procedures being launched every single day,
Most of them only make you sicker and sicker,
Physically and mentally.

They break our spirits,
To sell us crap.
False happily ever after,
But neither happy or after ever comes.