When someone works for less pay than she can live on – when, for example, she goes hungry so that you can eat more cheaply and conveniently – then she has made a great sacrifice for you, she has made you a gift of some part of her abilities, her health, and her life. The “working poor,” as there are approvingly termed, are in fact the major philanthropists of our society. They neglect their own children so that the children of others will be cared for; they live in substandard housing so that other homes will be shiny and perfect; … Continue reading Workforce

My soul is a weathered manuscript, its pages inscribed with the whispers of forgotten moments carried by life’s winds. Chapped fingers, marked by time and labor, trace the edges of joy and sorrow, leaving ancient runes upon the fabric of memory. Even the sting of burnt tastebuds from hasty sips of coffee speaks of life’s complexities—pleasures that scorch if consumed too quickly. Through stumbles and bruises, each fall etches resilience into my being. The past flows beneath my skin, mingling triumph with defeat. Time softens scars but never erases them, stitching fragments of memory into an imperfect but beautiful whole. … Continue reading My soul

My last words to him Love, I leave you with no hard feelings. I want you to sing with happiness and never feel sorrow. Love, I will carry your sorrow. Read the books I left on your pillow, smell the lavender. Bring bread to the park to feed the ducks, remember, they’re always hungry. Shower her in cherry blossoms and bring her tea when her heart aches. I hope you never feel alone again.I fell out of my nest too long ago, I can’t be domesticated. I’m a lost, scared, fragile bird with broken wings that can’t heal. I’m trapped … Continue reading August, 25 1986

I liked words like progress, extract, transpose, scape, scope, inform. Relational words, scientific in nature, poetic in imagery, musical in utterance. I liked words that could pick apart, that could devour and tell. Give me new reasons to delve deeper, to conclude, to prove. To prove me to you, to prove me to myself. My mind is a chord humming from an uninvented instrument, a piece of equipment with a soft vocal frequency, a microscope of sorts, but something more shy, while simultaneously more hostile… ❤ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Words …

I don’t know who you think I am. But I am that woman you would barely look at on the street. I am the one curled up on the park bench at midnight, shivering. I am the one with the dirty fingernails and the shoes ripping at the soles. I am the shadow that you find in a dark alley. I am the creak of wood outside of your window, the monster that haunts you as you sleep. I write because there is no other way. There is nothing else that is left of me. I write because it is … Continue reading You don’t know

In my darkest hours, let me be the mirror that unwaveringly reflects the depths of my soul, and the echo that resounds with the truths I’ve whispered to the night. As the world slumbers, teach me the art of self-acceptance, to find peace in the liminal space where seeds of hope gestate and await the harvest of tomorrow. Grant me the gift of days yet to dawn, where I may weave threads of compassion missed in today’s tapestry, mending the fabric of a heart that faltered in its purpose. Confront me with the visage of my own selfishness, that I … Continue reading My Darkest Hours

I came to nurture your seed that fears the winters—the fears of tomorrow, born from the eyes. Not from unforeseen paths that could lead you astray, but from the failures of past mistakes and the inability to say goodbye. When we realize that the keys to our prison have always been in our pockets, this discovery can carry us into true new beginnings. Do not nourish the fears of repeating your dusty actions. You will learn that you can begin anew or be reborn without ever moving. The truth is a pathless land within each of us, where freedom is … Continue reading Love,

Allow me to be the mirror of my darkest hours and the echo of my truths. Teach me to accept myself in time between the seeds and the harvest. Give me the next days and the tomorrows to share the compassion that I missed today, I terribly failed. Place me before my selfishness for the necessary dialogue with my soul that reacts to its own wounds. Introduce me to the forgiveness that I seek so much, but I have not yet recognized. Give me the courage to cross my fears. Reveal my fears to discover the faith. Allow me the … Continue reading Allow me

In this brief existence, we are but fleeting echoes—foreigners in a cosmic transience. Our souls, like delicate particles of stardust, traverse the boundless void. Imagine: a speck of dust suspended in the sunbeam of eternity. We drift, unanchored, through epochs and eras, our essence woven into the fabric of time. Each heartbeat resonates with the pulse of forgotten constellations. This world, once vibrant and resplendent, now wanes—a fading ember in the cosmic hearth. The symphony of life falters, notes dissolving into silence. We, too, are part of this unraveling—a minuscule fragment in the grand unraveling. Yet, within our insignificance lies … Continue reading Transient Echoes

In the gallery of my life, I once displayed a mosaic, crafted with pieces of my essence. Each fragment was a chapter, a melody, a whisper of my soul. They were the right pieces—genuine, pure, and full of promise. But as fate would have it, they fell into the wrong hands. These hands, like careless curators, mishandled the treasures I offered. They took the laughter and returned to silence, accepted trust, and repaid it with betrayal. The right pieces of me, once vibrant and hopeful, were tarnished by their touch. I watched as my mosaic became a jigsaw, with pieces … Continue reading The Mosaic of the Misguided