You were born with the vocation
to find faults everywhere
every centimeter of this city
as a radar
you point everything that judges be wrong.

And always right to complain
the whole world is wrong
and only the clinical look
can fix
the character of neighbors
crooked teeth of girl
inflation
the hole in the sidewalk corner
accurate, critical, and scientific
nothing escapes his scrutiny
nothing escapes the fury
thy withering pessimism
nobody pays or survives
dangerous to your language
nothing is good or worthy enough
and in the sky above your head
still around black clouds
while for the rest of the world
this same sky remains blue
you think you know you’re
mine and his, too
and never conforms in only
point out the flaws
You need to show greater
so vain, so unfair
and blind in every way
poor common sense
and take all for yourself
sees the world as if looking at a mirror
and see it reflected the vices
that is unable to confess
and remains hanging in his own pride
locked in trust your walls
that does not prevent you to stretch
to care for the life of another.

—By Mariana F., 24, São Paulo ♦