I may not believe in much—not in fate, nor in the promises of stars—but I believe in you. In the scripture that is your soul, written not in ink but in the quiet resilience of your spirit. I believe in the prayers that rise from your sighs, whispered offerings to a universe that sometimes forgets to answer. And I believe in the blessed sacraments scattered across the broken pieces of your heart, each shard a testament to the love you’ve given, the pain you’ve endured, the hope you still cradle in silence. Your body is my temple—not for worship, but … Continue reading 2013

There are days when the world speaks far too loudly. Too many people, too many voices, too many expectations. And so, like someone retreating into themselves, I close the door, silence the notifications, and dive into the quiet that belongs only to me. It’s in this space that demands nothing of me that I bloom. The absence of gazes returns the grace that the mirror insists on denying when I’m tired. The woman who stares back at me, with eyes full of judgment and resentment-lined wrinkles, vanishes. In her place, a version of me emerges—one who dances without fear, recites … Continue reading Chronicle: The Silence That Makes Me Shine

How do I translate this pain into words?She cried, her voice trembling like a thread pulled too tight. The question wasn’t rhetorical—it was a plea, a desperate attempt to make sense of the ache that had settled deep within her chest, like a stone that refused to move. He sat beside her, quiet for a long time. The kind of quiet that doesn’t ask for answers, only presence. Then, gently, he said,You can’t.Some feelings just don’t have a language. And in that moment, she understood. There are wounds that live beneath the surface, untouched by syllables. Grief that curls around … Continue reading The Silence Between Words

Passava os dias ali, quieta, no meio das coisas miúdas e me encantei… Era como se o tempo tivesse desaprendido a correr. As horas se esticavam feito fios de algodão, e eu me deixava ficar. Entre o chiado da chaleira, o ranger da cadeira de balanço, o cheiro de café recém-passado e o sol que entrava tímido pela fresta da janela, havia uma paz que não se anunciava — apenas existia. As coisas miúdas… Ah, essas tinham um jeito de me olhar de volta. A colher de chá, sempre no mesmo lugar. O vasinho de manjericão, que crescia devagar, mas … Continue reading No meio das coisas miúdas

There are truths that live in silence. Not because they are weak, but because they are sacred—too vast for language, too tender for touch. Mine was such a truth. A heart not given to you, nor even to myself, but suspended in the ether like a forgotten prayer. It belonged to something greater, something transcendental. And like all things beyond the veil—those you cannot see, cannot touch, cannot taste—it remained cloaked in its own essence, refusing to be simplified. Yet its presence was undeniable. It stirred the dust in our quiet corners. It bent the light between our glances. It … Continue reading Neglected: A Chronicle of the Unseen Heart — 2015

Pronounce your name with confidence. Tell them where you come from with pride. Be proud of your roots. Don’t you dare make excuses for who you are. I stand tall, my heart swelling with pride as I pronounce my name with unwavering confidence. “Beatriz,” I say, letting each syllable resonate with the strength of my heritage. I come from Brazil, a land of breathtaking beauty and vibrant culture, though still affected by the scars of colonization and enslavement, I stand tall, for my roots are deep and strong. I am a proud descendant of the Zulu people, warriors and visionaries … Continue reading Embracing Heritage

My mind is a quiet house at the edge of town—lonely, perhaps, but not unloved. The walls are lined with fading photographs and memories framed in soft gold, like old friends who never left but rarely speak. It’s the kind of place people forget to check in on, assuming I’m always home, always fine. But sometimes, it gets so quiet inside that I have to step out—just to knock on my own front door. I pretend I’m a guest, arriving with no expectations, just a need to be let in. I ring the bell, wait a moment, and greet myself … Continue reading A Visit to Myself

Começou num lugar que não se acha nos mapas, mas nos cantos da madrugada — um pedaço de Minas onde o tempo anda devagar e o amor se esconde no cheiro de café passado na hora. Lá, o amor não se diz. Se cozinha, como doce de leite no tacho, no silêncio morno do amanhecer. Minha pele, embora minha, carrega o tom de polpa de manga e sol de janeiro — uma tinta de urucum herdada da linhagem de minha mãe África. É a cor da lida, da fé, das mãos que me criaram. As palmas da minha mãe, gastas … Continue reading Crônica: A Origem do Meu Amor

Yo era un simple río, era las rocas inamovibles del fondo, también era los peces que nadaban contracorriente, era saciedad para algunos y un toque gélido para otros.Nací de manantiales puros y, asimismo, de montañas ásperas.El destino trazaba mi camino hacia ti, a converger en tus suaves olas, a fluir con tu imponente marea y a morir en tu inmensidad.Tú eras el mar…❤️ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Yo y el mar…

(a poem for the days that ache) I am allowed to have bad days,Or weeks that stretch like endless haze.Even when I know my name,It doesn’t shield me from the flame. Life still strikes with heavy hands,And sometimes pain outgrows my plans.But bruises do not blur my face,Nor strip my soul of rightful place. I stand in truth, I know my core,Yet sorrow knocks upon my door.Joy and grief can intertwine—Both are threads in this life of mine. This verse I write to ease the sting,Of guilt that quiet sadness brings.As if the ones who wish me smallWill point and … Continue reading I Am Allowed