An artist-a poet rather, fell in love with the simplicity in her reflection. She wrote; penned sestinas to her name, odes to her graces, attempted to infringe on the fine lines of ballads. She was in love with herself. One morning, when the sun started out its quest to reach the zenith of his sky, she sat at her desk facing the bustle down below. Gazing at herself smeared on the window, a dark limping figure wrapped in the finest silk of enigma, standing out amongst the vibrant colour of euphoria, caught her gaze. She was both intrigued and baffled: … Continue reading Pieces

Then I understood why poets stain the world with ink and singers wail to empty rooms. I understood that there are colors without names and moments without beginnings or ends. And I finally understood why heartache is the feared illness of them all. It does not stop. It does not rest. From the moment it infects you, it will always be hungry…😓 Continue reading Ink

I cannot wait to be patient with you. I cannot wait to slowly learn all your little quirks and flaws, and for you to learn mine. I cannot wait to hold you when you are battling against the coldness of life at 3:00am, and to wrap you up in my arms until you are warm again. I can’t wait to whisper into your ear that you are beautiful (especially in crowded places when you can’t argue back) and to continue doing so even if it takes a million times to make you believe it. I cannot wait to catch you … Continue reading My dear,

I lay words on paper, asking the sky to water your steps and weave you into the flowers. I long to reap you in the west of the days as I tread the crooked paths of the present, hoping your love will straighten me tomorrow. I rise early so my love may kiss you before the wind, and I sleep late to rendezvous with your dreams. And when you come—come. Let your soul pour into mine, so I may truly live. When you come—come. Feel at home in me… ❤ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Feel at home …

In the chaotic center of my being, I hold a world unseen. It’s a tangle of thoughts, full of light and shadow, a duality that dances in silence. Yet, when I stand before you, I unfold only the brightest fragments, the simplest joys, and the gentlest whispers of my spirit. These I lay in your hands—feathers of my essence, light enough not to burden your soul, warm enough to be held with care. I do not speak of the storms that rage within, the torrents of doubt that erode the shores of certainty. For you, I reserve the calm after … Continue reading The Gallery of My Life

I am a collective of souls. I am all their hopes, all their dreams. I am both their greatest disappointment and most cherished possession. I am everyone and everything. Or at least it used to feel as if I had to be. I am. Whatever that means. Whatever that is. I don’t know. Once I was a daughter. Once I was a friend. Maybe even an enemy. Once I was a lover. Once I was comfort. Once I was anger. Once I was an inspiration. Once I was nothing. Once I was all. And now I am. I am less … Continue reading Collective Os Souls

It was you who taught us that the best way to pray was to make something beautiful. Today, when we pray, we sit down and arrange whatever’s in front of us into patterns, forms and feelings. We draw in the dust. We take a picture. We sing. We cook. We write a sentence. We write another one. We create and through creating, we pray. This, you said, is why all life is beautiful. It is the greatest prayer of all. Saravá …❤️ Continue reading The Whispering…

… luxury was but a distant dream, I first opened my eyes. The world around me was a tapestry of humble beginnings, woven with the threads of hardship and the unyielding spirit of survival. Yet, in this place where affluence was scarce, I found an abundance of something far more precious—dignity. I grew up in the alleys of want, where every day was a testament to endurance. The walls of my home, though frail and weathered, stood firm like the resolve in my heart. I was taught early that the measure of a person is not found in the weight … Continue reading My Childhood

Combien de larmes seront suffisantes pour me laver des ténèbres où se trouve mon cœur ? Combien faut-il pleurer et, ayant pleuré, me sécher, révélant un côté jusqu’alors immergé dans les tristesses ? Combien de tristesse je chasse et, d’elle, je me renouvelle pour toujours avoir de quoi pleurer ? Combien en moi j’insiste et de moi je renonce dans le même instant ? Combien de moi est mer ? Car je remplis mes peurs quotidiennes que les souvenirs soient faits d’eau et que je me noie à jamais. Combien de moi est aridité ? Car j’ai peur que mes … Continue reading Combien …

I don’t know much about a lot of things.I don’t know how it is governments can poison their own people (or any people).I don’t know how it is children are victims of gunshot wounds at the hands of those who are barely out of childhood themselves who are armed with metal death.I don’t know how as the planet continues to wobble in ways more and more dramatic there is a continued unwillingness to claim culpability for global warming.I don’t know how it became politically incorrect to share sorrows and questions.I don’t know.What I do know is that there is Holy … Continue reading I don’t know …