Month: August 2024

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When I grow up, I want to be an artist.

beatrizesmer

In the mess of my childhood, I often found myself lost in the colors of my imagination. The world around me, with its vibrant hues and intricate patterns, whispered secrets of beauty and wonder. I dreamt of capturing these whispers, of translating the language of the universe onto a canvas. As I grew, so did my dreams. They blossomed like wildflowers in the meadow of my mind, each petal a stroke of inspiration. I envisioned myself standing before a blank canvas, my heart beating in rhythm with the brush in my hand. The colors would dance and swirl, creating a … Continue reading When I grow up, I want to be an artist.

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Naked Desperation in the Citadel

beatrizesmer

In the heart of an ancient citadel, I stand, stripped bare before the relentless gaze of life. The memories of my past are but a distant echo, lost in the labyrinth of my mind. Here I am, naked and exposed, on the threshold of a place that feels both foreign and familiar. The stone streets whisper secrets of forgotten times, and the wooden windows, tightly shut, offer me a semblance of privacy in my exposed state. Despair clings to me like a second skin, a constant reminder of the homeland that has forsaken me. I am a stranger in this … Continue reading Naked Desperation in the Citadel

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The Unyielding Presence of Pain

beatrizesmer

Pain, a relentless actress, takes center stage in the theater of life. She dons many masks, each more haunting than the last. She is the tight smile that conceals a storm, the hunched heart burdened by invisible weights, the knot that twists and turns within our chests. Her presence is undeniable, her grip unyielding. Yet, pain is not merely an antagonist. She is a force that rusts and ages, disarming us with her raw power. She leaves an indelible mark, impressing upon us the depths of our own vulnerability. But in her wake, she also brings recovery and relief. She … Continue reading The Unyielding Presence of Pain

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Be Gentle

beatrizesmer

Please be gentle with me. I carry the anger of fallen angels, carefully tucked away behind the memories I’d rather forget. My silence mirrors the calm before a hurricane, and today, I feel like a category 4 storm brewing within. If you’re reckless, take heed: I am a red button, accidentally pressed, morphing into a nuclear war. But beneath this tempest lies fragility—a delicate existence akin to coffee stains on a cherished wooden table, stubbornly refusing to fade away. So, when you touch my soul, be soft, be tame, be tender. For I am everything or nothing—a fragile human being … Continue reading Be Gentle

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Cosmic Reflections

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In the quiet of your existence, you are a symphony of ancient elements. Your body, a testament to cosmic alchemy, mirrors the fierce grace of lionesses. Three-quarters water, coursing through veins and sinews, you carry the same liquid force that shapes mountains and carves canyons. Your DNA, a delicate script etched across the eons, whispers secrets shared with wolf genes—the same twenty amino acids weaving life’s intricate tapestry. When doubt clouds your reflection, remember: the air you inhale fuels the inferno of forest fires, consuming all in their path. You are the breath of combustion, the spark that ignites transformation. … Continue reading Cosmic Reflections

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Symphony of Love

beatrizesmer

I fall in love with words that unveil the mysteries of self, that illuminate the path to understanding another. These words, like gentle caresses, speak to the core of my being, revealing truths that lie hidden beneath the surface. In the inquiry of what makes me interesting, I find a mirror reflecting the beauty of curiosity and connection. The touch of skin, the warmth of hands, these are the moments where love breathes life into the mundane. Tired eyes, worried eyes, anxious eyes—they all tell stories of vulnerability and strength, of battles fought and won. Fierce eyes, burning with an … Continue reading Symphony of Love

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Dance of Life

beatrizesmer

When the world seems to conspire against you, when the winds howl with a ferocity that shakes your very core, and the nights stretch on, cloaked in an impenetrable darkness, it is easy to feel lost. Time itself seems to rebel, each second dragging its feet, amplifying the emptiness that surrounds you. But it is in these very moments, when despair threatens to take hold, that you must find the strength to rise. To dance. Not just as a defiance against the void, but as a celebration of your spirit. For even in the vast expanse of nothingness, there is … Continue reading Dance of Life

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Primal Instincts

beatrizesmer

I slip into your skin, a trespasser in the temple of longing. The air thickens, charged with anticipation—a prelude to the tempest that awaits. My fingers trace the contours of your existence, mapping constellations of secrets etched upon your canvas. Your skin—oh, your skin—is parchment for whispered confessions. Each pore, a wellspring of stories waiting to be inked. I read you like a sacred text, deciphering the hieroglyphs of desire. My eyes, those curious voyagers, drink from your wells of vulnerability. They savor the taste of vulnerability—the sweet ache of surrender. And then, our lips collide—a cataclysm of need. There’s … Continue reading Primal Instincts

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Memoire Oubliée

beatrizesmer

Tes yeux sont si profonds que j’y perds la mémoire. Your eyes—their irises like twin galaxies—hold secrets older than constellations. They are wellsprings of forgotten tales, where the past and present entwine, and the future hesitates, unsure of its own script. I imagine tracing the contours of your gaze—the delicate arch of your brow, the crescent moons etched beneath your lashes. Each blink, a shutter capturing fragments of existence: stolen kisses, whispered promises, the scent of rain on cobblestone streets. And within those depths, memory unravels like a vintage tapestry. Perhaps it was a moonlit soirée, where laughter swirled like … Continue reading Memoire Oubliée

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The Unseen Ensemble

beatrizesmer

In the noisy chambers of my being, I harbor multitudes—a kaleidoscope of selves, each with its own story etched upon the walls of my heart. They are not mere figments; they are the architects of my existence, the dreamers who whisper secrets in moonlight. Within me, there is the wanderer—the one who craves distant shores and the taste of salt on wind-kissed lips. She wears the scent of forgotten places, and her eyes hold the map of constellations. She yearns for horizons beyond the mundane, where the sky is an open canvas waiting for her brushstroke. Beside her stands the … Continue reading The Unseen Ensemble