Poems by Felipe Hendriksen




So you want to become a tarot reader

And throw cards at strangers?

I won’t laugh, I promise:

I’d never laugh at you.


You want to drop out from law school

On your last year

And become a psychologist?

That’s okay, you do you.

I won’t judge you,

I’d never pass judgement on you.


You don’t know what to do with your life?

Me neither.

Actually, I’m more lost than you.

I know it doesn’t seem like it,

But we’re both adrift,

And I’d love to share the ride with you.


I wonder if you’ll ever be a mother.

I always thought that would be out of character.

But people change,

And you’re not 16 anymore.

So maybe you’d like to have a child eventually.

I know I don’t,

But who cares about me?


I can’t picture you married

Or really in love with a man,

An adult.

I know you had many boyfriends,

But the ring changes everything.

I wouldn’t like to see you walk down the aisle,

All in white,

Petals on the carpet,

The groom waiting for you,

Hotter than me,



With a bigger dick.

But I don’t have to worry about it:

You’d never invite me anyways.


Will you ever have wrinkles or white hair?

I don’t want to see that.

It’s not that I wouldn’t love your old you,

But to me you’ll always be 16,

And maybe that’s sick,

It’s definitely sick,

Because one day I’ll be too old,

And the thing will turn from cute to creepy.

Probably that day has come already,

But I’m only 24,

So maybe I shouldn’t worry too much.



Dead? You? No.

You cannot die.

At least not before me.

I’d hate to go to the funeral,

Full of strangers you loved more than me

Weeping for a woman only I really knew.

Besides, I’d have to visit you constantly,

And even I can tell that’s creepy.


2020 is ending and I don’t know

If you’re happy or sad,

Dead or alive,

Alone or engaged.


2021 is approaching.

Will anything change at all?


Excuse Me


It’s been too long and I’m tired

Of always being the one who fucks up everything.


I’d rather be normal:

Have friends,

A girlfriend,

Go to parties.


But I can’t, and it hurts.

Because being a stranger isn’t free,

And people make you pay for it.

People hate what they don’t understand,

So they hate me.


And I’m not special.

I’m just a creepy guy with glasses who likes to read,

A pseudo writer whose mind can only handle a few topics:

A trip I made too many years ago;

A girl I’m obsessed with;




I hope one day I can write better things,

Smarter things,

Things that don’t hurt anyone,

Especially me.


Ode on a Photo Taken Somewhere Around December 2008


A moment frozen in eternity,

A picture I’m sure no one remembers

But me.

A frame, a slice, a moment

Of a life that was never fulfilling

But wasn’t so bad at the time.

A still image drawn by Someone above,

Someone who knew

The occasion was going to mean something in the future.


Maybe it’s lost,

But I hope it survives

In some secret Facebook profile

Or a hidden flash drive, somewhere.

Maybe even in a CD,

Because that was the time of CDs,

Because I’m that old,

Because I’m hoping

She felt it was important to save the picture,

Not all pictures but that one,

The one she’s with me,

Awkwardly hugging,

The one I’m wearing a weird hat,

Those hipster, brown, Marxist hats

Only street artists wear.


It’s been years since I last saw that picture

And I’m hating myself now,

Because I didn’t print it

And now I can’t put it on a frame

With the other two we have together,

When we were too young to know

We didn’t like each other.


It was a weird time,

The one immortalized,

Because boys that age are shorter than girls,

12-year-old girls are too tall.

So she’s towering over me,

A symbol of what would come,

An allegory of what she was going to mean to me,

A metaphor of my future relationship with her,

Her making me feel minuscule

And fat,

Extremely fat,

And also ugly, and maybe too dark-skinned,

And poorly dressed.

Because she’s wearing sunglasses and a beanie,

And her breast is not as flat as it was the year prior,

And that’s starting to trouble me,

Because girls are becoming something different,

And I can’t face different,

Maybe I can’t stand different,

And my face in that picture shows

That everything’s changing

And I’m not having it.


And we’re both smiling:

She, because she’s becoming a beautiful woman and she knows it;

Me? I don’t know why the fuck I’m smiling,

Because life’s about to become real hard

And I should’ve known it.


In the end, it’s just a photo,

An old, forgotten photo

She definitely doesn’t remember

And that I had also forgotten

Until now.

And that’s really unfortunate,

Because from now on

I’ll always have it in my head,

Even if I know,

Deep down,

That she doesn’t deserve my attention anymore.


Why bother at all? Are we even the same people, after all these years? 



Felipe Rodolfo Hendriksen studies Literature at Pontificia Universidad Católica Argentina. He currently lives in Quilmes.

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