Imagine a woman who stands before a mirror, not as a critic but as an artist admiring her masterpiece. She gazes upon her own body with love and reverence, understanding that every curve, every mark, every inch of her being is a testament to her journey. This is a woman who knows that her body is enough, just as it is – a perfect blend of strength and vulnerability, of history and future potential. In the quiet moments of her life, she celebrates the rhythms and cycles of her body, each one an exquisite resource that connects her to the … Continue reading A Woman

Je ne me rappelle plusCes moments de trop grande souffranceOù ma vie était erranceOù tout me semblait étrangement superflu. Je ne me rappelle plusToutes ces violences, toutes ces horreursQui mettaient mon cœurExempt de douceur devant l’inconnu…😔 ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Je ne me rappelle

The morning that you left, I thought about going with you. The thought consumed me as I stood in the kitchen, my fingers tracing the rim of the mug you drank your coffee from. I cleaned it slowly, meticulously, as if washing your lips away could somehow cleanse the ache in my heart. No one saw you come in. No one saw you leave. Our moments together were fleeting, hidden from the world. As I changed the sheets on my bed, I felt like I was washing away little bits of you, the traces you left behind. Each sweep of … Continue reading Departure

It’s my secret artifact—a box made of thought and adorned with the subtle elegance of rare crystal, preserved within the sanctuary of my imagination. As insomnia’s restless embrace guides my footsteps, an unsettling serenity blooms. It is then that I retract the box’s protrusions and silently explore its contents. In my little world, there is a place for everyone—a sanctuary for every soul. Some find their space alongside someone or something, sharing the journey and weaving their existences together. Others carve out a niche for themselves, embracing the simplicity of coexistence with their own being. Within my box, I hold … Continue reading Little Box

People are akin to cities, each harboring enigmatic alleys, vibrant gardens, and clandestine rooftops where secrets dance in the moonlit hours. Just as daisies sprout courageously between the cracks of concrete, so do our innermost vulnerabilities and joys, often concealed from the world. We are but enigmatic metropolises, offering mere postcard glimpses of our grandeur, showcasing only the polished squares and the majestic skylines. Yet, love, like a seasoned explorer, unravels the tapestry of our souls, uncovering those hidden realms within another, even the ones they themselves had not fathomed, even the ones they hadn’t deemed beautiful. It is in … Continue reading People X Cities

As a child, I saw the deep blue ocean, its vastness stretching beyond my young imagination. I felt the sand beneath my feet, warm and comforting, as if nature itself was embracing me. I watched the white-capped waves dancing, like crabs upon the beach, their rhythm hypnotic and soothing. I grew up and fell in love in the redwood forest, seduced by the sunlight which filtered in, but the climbing vines and deep-set shadows made me feel it was a sin. I climbed a mount in Congonhas city, touched the shining, silver clouds, feeling the weight of the world lift … Continue reading Sweet Memories …

When I embrace authentic humility, I find it takes courage to open myself to vulnerability and uncertainty. Yet, it is precisely in this space where magic lives—on the edge of what I know and what I am comfortable with. This journey demands a deep, self-reliant faith, a profound trust in the unknown. Faith becomes my smile in the face of uncertainty. Living with courageous faith, I touch the realm of pure potentiality, where every moment holds infinite possibilities. I remind myself that it is on the fringes of the familiar, in the dance with the unknown, that true growth and … Continue reading Faith

What is the soul? Consciousness.The more awareness, the deeper the soul, and when such essence overflows, you feel a sacredness around. It’s so simple to tell one who puts on a robe and pretends to be a dervish from the real thing. We know the taste of pure water.Words can sound like a poembut not have any juice, no flavor to relish. How long do you look at pictures on a bathhouse wall?Soul is what draws you away from those pictures to talk with the old woman who sits outside by the door in the sun.She’s half blind, but she … Continue reading Soul

Was she a woman or a muse, the one who fled through the streets of the city center? Her silhouette, outlined by the flickering glow of the streetlights, seemed to float between mist and stone, between reality and delirium. She ran with alarmed malice, her steps sparking lightning, a feverish fusion of fire and beauty that set the cobblestones ablaze. I saw her, as if she were an omen, a burning breath of unbearable fate. I asked myself then—what was the fabulous and cursed story of that woman? She passed me like a whirlwind of mystery, dragging into the night … Continue reading That Woman

I cry in Yoruba, but I pray in the name of the Universe…My tears, rivers flowing from ancestors’ wounds,carrying echoes of songs once whispered to the moon.Each sob a syllable, a language of sorrow,woven with the wisdom of those before me. I cry in Yoruba, where grief knows the drum’s embrace,where the earth hums lullabies for broken souls,where the wind carries whispers of lost tomorrows,and the rain baptizes me in memory’s call. But I pray in the name of the Universe,where light folds into the hollows of my longing,where the stars scatter my wishes like seeds of dawn,where the infinite … Continue reading Yoruba