August 11, 2014

That night, I didn’t write to be understood. I wrote to disappear.

I lay dormant, tucked behind phrases and verbs, hoping no one would notice the tremble in my voice or the ache in my silence. My words were not confessions—they were camouflage. Carefully chosen, deliberately placed. I knew how to sound poetic without sounding personal. That was my gift. That was my shield.

I lie dormant, hidden
behind phrases and verbs
unnoticed, undetected…

I’ve always known how to vanish in plain sight. People read my poems and see beauty, melancholy, maybe even mystery. But they don’t see me. Not really. They skim the surface, never diving deep enough to touch the truth I buried there.

Things you will never read
on the surface of words…

I’m nowhere to be found in the obvious. I live between the lines, in the pauses, in the metaphors that feel too abstract to decode. That’s where I breathe. That’s where I hide.

Behind a screen of poetry
the real me remains unseen… ❤️

And maybe that’s how I want it. Maybe I’m not ready to be seen. Or maybe I’m waiting—for someone who reads not just the poem, but the pulse beneath it. Someone who hears the silence and knows it’s me.

Until then, I remain—unread, unseen, but never unwritten.

©️ Beatriz Esmer