My dear,

Who has whispered such untruths into your ear? In what cold, sterile corner did they find the breath to say your skin was anything less than beautiful? To speak is often to err; to listen to the wrong voice is to lose one’s own pulse.

Look upon the earth. Not the surface that men walk upon, but the primordial, teeming depth. See yourself there. You are the color of the fertile ground, that dark, humid silence from which all flowers are forced to spring, almost painfully, into the light. It is a mystery of hunger and satiation. In the deep, rich soil, the seeds do not merely wait; they struggle, they find their terrifying strength, and then—ah—the blossoms unfurl in a riot of color that is almost too much to bear.

Your skin is the canvas of continents. It is the shade of a soil that does not just hold, but cradles; it nourishes the very beginnings of things we cannot yet name. It is the hue of a strength that doesn’t need to shout, the tint of a resilience that simply is. It is the shade of endless possibilities, vibrating with a life that precedes thought.

Like the earth, you hold the promise of a life that is both cruel and magnificent. You are the certainty of growth, the raw beauty of nature’s endless, indifferent cycle.

So, stand tall. Or do not stand at al, simply exist, and let the world catch its breath as it sees what I see. For flowers are a mere vanity; they can only exist because of the deep, rich soil. And you? You are the place where beauty ceases to be a word and becomes a root. You are where it thrives, in the dark, in the truth. 🌺

©️ Beatriz Esmer