quinta-feira, 10 de agosto de 2017


When the bridge cracks,
The cliff will present itself as a way out.
But, hand in hand, we shall
Level our heads and balance our legs.

When it’s time for matters of life and death,
We’ll be there: in sync, swinging
In the ropes of a white crochet hammock.
The rhythm will support us.

Nicole Rodrigues


O encontro na estação,
A plataforma vazia,
O banco gelado,
O abraço não dado
E o aperto no coração.

Despedida é coisa triste,
Não saber é tortura,
Mas amar e querer bem,
Mesmo quando longe,
É o que importa.

Nicole Rodrigues

domingo, 16 de abril de 2017


There are screams of the soul that only get to our ears 
years later. 
Their journey almost as long 
as ours.

Nicole Rodrigues


This is when and where
Two stones become a path.

Nicole Rodrigues


Tattooing her thoughts on her tongue
Tantrums written in Thai
Too late to ask her why.

Nicole Rodrigues

quinta-feira, 16 de fevereiro de 2017


Waves breaking down
One after the other
Right behind my back,

But this rage won't slave me,
This rage won't sink me
Back into the ocean.

If the ocean is mean, so am I.
The boat will rock me to sleep
And help me cross this time.

No shipwreck on my way to shore.
If the ship has a mast,
I am it's master.

Nicole Rodrigues

domingo, 25 de dezembro de 2016

Shape shifter


One life is too small. What about all the other shapes, all the other possibilities?
What about the trilogy? Mansfield park? And Katherine?
The islands, the lakes, the caves?
The bread, the wine, the flame?
The loners, the barren, the ones who forget?

I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of dying untouched, unfinished.
Afraid of a life not lived to its fullest potential. Of rules that limit the expansion of the being, that reduce well-being, and self-exploration to prediction, to tradition. 

The paths are there for a reason, and I am meant to follow one at a time or all at once, if I so desire. Sure there is danger when your feet spin around, but progression needs movement not sticking to the ground.

Nicole Rodrigues

quarta-feira, 21 de setembro de 2016


I can feel the threads reweaving,
rebuilding the fortress in the shape
of a blanket that will protect me from
the burdens of another winter,
be it outside my body or inside my soul.

The winds are growling and ever so cold.
My body bowing down, counting the footsteps
in the snow to make sure I am moving.
My socks are blue, and so are my toes.
Halfway to the moon my heart stopped.

Nicole Rodrigues

quarta-feira, 3 de agosto de 2016


Too fragile,
too precious,
too strong,
too restless
for this world
and all that with her clothes on.

The red velvet waves,
translucent skin, 
pale pink dress 
and sequin blazer 
shining bright just like 
her big green eyes.

Cosmic glow dissipating 
from high grounds to bare feet. 
And the harp won't stop.

Nicole Rodrigues

domingo, 24 de abril de 2016


I don't want to go back.
Lying on the sand 
drinking a watermelon juice 
that matches my bag. 
I don't want to go back.

Nicole Rodrigues

Erva daninha

Verde jade 
Verde ouro 
No cio 
Erva doce 
Do nada 
De fininho.

Nicole Rodrigues

sábado, 23 de janeiro de 2016


From where I stand, I get nothing but a glimpse
Of what is behind the slightly open and freshly painted new door.
And, while not ready for it yet,
I know in my heart I should not shut it down.
I see this light, a small beam of light…

When feeling stronger, I get closer, 
And stare at it curiously, willingly, defiantly even; 
I let it shine through my fingers, 
I see my nails tinted in gold and it makes me smile. 

Other times, 
When feeling not so strong, I sit by the opposite wall, 
Keeping my distance and protecting my field of vision, 
Trying to understand what is it about this door 
That makes me want to enter. 

For now, 
Even if not fully formed, my thoughts show me 
I wish to see it through. In and out of this room. 
I want to see every particle, every ray, 
Reflected in dust, hail, smoke, and rain. 

Nicole Rodrigues

segunda-feira, 18 de janeiro de 2016


I am finding it – fine tuning it
Through tunnels of rustiness.
Metal-scratching noises
Down my throat, down the road
Of hasty thoughts that insist
To inhabit me.

Running nose and tears
Washing my face,
Cascading on my cheeks,
Wetting my dried open lips
Always in search of air 
– forever breathless.

Despair might just kill me
If I get sick one more time.

Nicole Rodrigues


My demons started coming out
And I’m so scared, 
Oh I’m so scared of what I am about to see.

My demons started shouting loud
And I’m so scared, 
Oh I’m so scared of what I am going to hear.

My demons started circling around
And I’m so scared, 
Oh I’m so scared of what I am going to be

Come at once, 
For the thought of the pain
Is no less painful the thing itself.

Come so that I know
That bleeding my beating heart out 
Was not in vain.

Come so that this wound can heal
And the rot will feed the earth
Where I buried myself.

Nicole Rodrigues

domingo, 10 de janeiro de 2016


Uma cratera,
Um chute,
Um susto,
Uma exaustão…

Parei de tentar.
Nao pude evitar.
Esse meu coração. 

Nicole Rodrigues

quinta-feira, 7 de janeiro de 2016


Too much to take on,
too long to hold on,
the buzz in my ear 
is far too strong. 

Two voices, two forces 
fighting for space. 
Quiet, please. 

Nicole Rodrigues 

Osteogênese imperfeita

O barulho dos teus ossos quebrando
E o grito abafado de dor
Não me sairão da memória.
Acordei chorando
E, ao te ver adormecido ao meu lado,
Abafei o soluço
Para não te acordar.

Nicole Rodrigues

Poesia natimorta

O pente fino no cabelo da boneca,
a poesia natimorta que em tudo brota,
os versos em forma de gota que caem no papel…
As batalhas do peito têm a pena como mérito.

Nicole Rodrigues

Now and then

Living has to be in excess.
So much will be missing when we die.
Leave the lack of everything for later 
And the excess of everything for now.

Nicole Rodrigues


Two eggs and two potatoes boiling…
Oh, her fear of being poisoned!

Three clowns around the table
With their faces distorted.

They whisper, they stare;
They sing and they clap.

I too would be scared.
I too would watch my food cook.
Nicole Rodrigues

sábado, 5 de dezembro de 2015


She was not mad, she was broken.
Aren’t we all, both mad and broken somehow?
If we are lucky, it will be only for a second, 
If we are cursed, it will be for a century. 
Both lucky and cursed. Aren’t we all somehow?

Nicole Rodrigues

domingo, 29 de novembro de 2015

Sleeping paranoia

He tried to get into the car I was in.
She tried to throw a brick and he fired rubber bullets at me.
Sleeping paranoia. I could use a break from it.
Wish I could dream of going somewhere by bus, plane or train. Not flying.
Wish I could dream about cats. Not dying.
My subconscious is as driven as me. As pushy as me.
Wish I could push my dreams away. The epic ones, anyway.

Nicole Rodrigues


He split her upper lip with a backslap and a golden ring.
He glued it back with staple and tape.
What kind of monster is that? How many types are there?
I could kill him, Nina, I swear.

Nicole Rodrigues


Detracted, disturbed. I'm done. Not only with one, but with all of you.
Detached, distant is what I'll be from now on.
Distractions. Demoted.
All of you.

Nicole Rodrigues

Eighteen layers of wool

Thoughts, wishes and secrets 
gradually unwrapped, 
underneath eighteen layers of wool.

Each layer carefully explored, 
peeled away, 
with patience and grace 
Nicole Rodrigues

segunda-feira, 26 de outubro de 2015

Montdevergues Asylum

A giant cactus
Teasing her,
Taunting her;

A rock in the shape of a tree
Protruding from the ground
Where she lies now,

Where she died then
Of thirst
For freedom.

Nicole Rodrigues

segunda-feira, 21 de setembro de 2015


Her confusion in living her life.
Losing her mind and her sight.
Blurred steps and trembling signs.
We are all Murdochs.

Nicole Rodrigues

segunda-feira, 31 de agosto de 2015


Dou meia volta na ânsia de apagar
O rastro do cometa que iluminou o túnel
Em um instante.

Um vagalume de um segundo,
Uma vela acesa prum vulto,
Um diamante.

Nicole Rodrigues

domingo, 30 de agosto de 2015

Wrapping me up

Always you
and your long legs
wrapping me up,
cheering me up.

Nicole Rodrigues

sábado, 8 de agosto de 2015


Alçada às alturas
Para bem longe de uma realidade tão dura
Que foi fácil de esquecer.

Nicole Rodrigues

Pólen, pétalas e rabiscos

Amassados entre as páginas dos meus cadernos de rabiscos
Estão os papeis de bala e as pétalas das flores que de ti ganhei.

O pólen cai da página
Colorindo a manta
Que cobre a carne.

Isso que dá
Escrever deitada.

Nicole Rodrigues

Ilha esmeralda

Damien e Lisa me esperam no topo da montanha cor de esmeralda.
É ao som deles que casarei novamente de véu e grinalda
No décimo nono dia do mês que fui trazida à terra.

Até lá, com sorte, chamarei esta ilha de lar.
Leve o tempo que levar.

Nicole Rodrigues


Na igreja da vila dos passarinhos
Tem um tronco que faz de conta que é banquinho
E quem chega logo senta
À espera de uma sopa ou de um docinho
Sem notar que os donos da vila
Só querem saber de voar.

Nicole Rodrigues

domingo, 19 de julho de 2015


Saio catando os cacos e ponho tudo num saco
na esperança de colar as peças 
e esconder as brechas desse oco.

Nicole Rodrigues


The most peaceful sound to ever enter my ears.


If what I feel, I feel alone, 
and only exists in my heart,
then I shall remove it from my body 
and dissolve it in my blood, 
like a disease, until it is gone. 

I can dope myself in soundtracks 
while my being processes 
the extraction of you. 

In my hallucination I'll reveal
all the corners you have fulfilled.
But in real life I'll disguise it
until I am me again. Alone again. 

Nicole Rodrigues


The flame that turned into a big bonfire.
Love given randomly to you often.
Why won't you take it?

Nicole Rodrigues

sábado, 11 de julho de 2015


Precious moments escapes us quickly,
as if in a hurry to die.
Burn, burn, burn butterfly.

Nicole Rodrigues


The whole,
whatever it is, 
scattered at intervals. 

The future, 
whatever it holds, 
will, no doubt, unfold.

But the present, 
the treasure, 
is now.

Nicole Rodrigues

terça-feira, 23 de junho de 2015


Conhecedor da dor de cabeça mais profunda, 
mais teimosa, mais chorosa… 
Como os incessantes sinos de igreja no domingo. Um perigo.

Nicole Rodrigues