Sometimes, I find myself gazing into the mirror, examining each feature in turn: my eyes, my mouth, the contour of my forehead, the curve of my eyelids, the line of my face. And this coarse and ugly amalgamation, grotesque and miserable, could it truly know how to craft verses? Ah, no! There must be something else… but what? After all, why ponder?

Living is not knowing that one is alive. It is a dance, a fleeting moment of existence that we seldom pause to dissect. In the reflection staring back at me, I see the undeniable evidence of life, etched in imperfections and silent stories. Yet, these flaws, these perceived grotesqueries, hold a secret beauty of their own.

It is in the not knowing, in the uninhibited embrace of life’s rhythms, that true poetry is born. The raw, unfiltered essence of being finds its way into the verses, creating a tapestry of experiences, emotions, and dreams. Each line, each word, is a testament to the journey, an echo of the heartbeat that drives us forward.

So, as I stand before the mirror, I let go of the need to analyze, to question. I accept the mystery of my existence, the strange and beautiful enigma that is life. For in this acceptance, I find freedom, a boundless canvas upon which to paint the verses of my soul. 🙏🏾❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer