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His eyes

beatrizesmer

His eyes, like pools of midnight, held a depth of desire that could not be contained. They spoke volumes, uncensored and raw, drawing me in with their intoxicating invitation. And when his saccharine tongue touched mine, it ignited a primal carnality within me, a thirst that could not be quenched, a drought that had long been ignored. He marked me with his teeth, his fingers tangled in my hair, leaving me raw and exposed. His touch was a scorching fire, a thrust against my soft skin, leaving me breathless and wanting more. As he moved within me, I saw a … Continue reading His eyes

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True love …

beatrizesmer

Anything other than love is a deception, a mirage in the desert of life. But how does one discern the authenticity of love? It is when nothing is demanded of you, except to be your true self. When the gaze upon you is not hollow, but filled with genuine warmth and understanding. When a smile reveals an open heart, ready to embrace every moment with pure sincerity. True love is not tainted by manipulation or hidden agendas. It is a gaze that seeks to share the magic of life, to understand and appreciate without judgment. It is a mutual recognition … Continue reading True love …

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Solitude

beatrizesmer

In the quiet embrace of solitude, I find the warmth of herb tea and the gentle caress of soft music. Here, in this sanctuary of stillness, I am cradled by the gentle whispers of my own thoughts, and I am reminded that solitude is not a void to be filled, but a space to be cherished. Loneliness, like black coffee and late-night television, is a companion that lingers in the shadows, a visitor that brings a bitter taste to the lips and a flickering glow in the darkness. It is a feeling that weighs heavy on the heart, a yearning … Continue reading Solitude

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Être fort …

beatrizesmer

Être fort, c’est un fardeau que l’on porte en silence. C’est sourire même lorsque les larmes menacent de submerger notre âme. C’est rayonner de bonheur, même lorsque les ténèbres menacent de nous engloutir. C’est offrir le pardon à ceux qui ne le méritent pas, et attendre sans espoir de retour. C’est rester calme dans les tourments du désespoir, et offrir la joie quand notre cœur est en peine. Être fort, c’est cacher nos propres tourments derrière un sourire radieux, c’est étouffer nos sanglots pour offrir un visage serein. C’est offrir du bonheur à ceux qui nous entourent, même lorsque notre … Continue reading Être fort …

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Sadness

beatrizesmer

When sadness comes to visit me, I welcome it with open arms, acknowledging its presence with a gentle “I see you.” I sit with it, allowing its weight to settle upon my shoulders, feeling its touch upon my soul. I don’t rush it away, for it is a part of me, a visitor in the house of my heart. I spend some time with this melancholic guest, understanding its whispers and the shadows it casts. I listen to its story, let its tears flow, and allow its echoes to reverberate within me. And as I sit in its company, I … Continue reading Sadness

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Brasil

beatrizesmer

My love was born in a land of mystery where water flows in midnight tresses, so free this skin, a canvas of forest and Eastern light a redwood dye of history, woven so right. It’s not my own, but a legacy of toil from my mother’s hands, from the earth’s rich soil glass bangles sing, a melody in the air hoisting baskets of life, with grace and care. This land, it holds the moon and sun so dear with fruits so sweet, and eyes so kind and clear strong hands, gentle hearts, a rhythm so pure, a pulse that beats … Continue reading Brasil

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My heart onto the pages …

beatrizesmer

I am transcribing the rhythm of my heart onto these pages, etching the echoes of my soul onto the delicate parchment, so that one day, long after I have departed this world, my essence will linger, as tangible as a stack of composition notebooks. In every word, I weave the tapestry of my being, each sentence a brushstroke of my existence. I pour my dreams, my fears, my triumphs, and my vulnerabilities into these pages, creating a symphony of emotions that will resonate through time. I am etching my spirit onto the fibers of these pages, creating an indelible imprint … Continue reading My heart onto the pages …

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Worried eyes …

beatrizesmer

I look with worried eyes at the world around me, where social vines twist and tangle, where flashing lights blind us to the lack of rights. Human compassion seems to be in short supply, lost in the chaos and noise of hate and division. Hate feeds off hate, a vicious cycle that threatens to consume us all. But if hate can thrive, then love should come just as easily, if only we let it. Windows bashed in, faces sprayed with mace, lives choked out of existence, all in the name of eliminating race. The lines between classes have blurred, and … Continue reading Worried eyes …

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Ms. Jane Doe

beatrizesmer

In the quiet solitude of her solitary abode, Ms. Jane Doe writes. She writes to release the tempest raging within, to share the burden of her inner storm with a world that often seems distant. Yet, she struggles with the words, seeking the perfect way to convey the turmoil that resides in her heart. How can she use these words to touch another soul, to bridge the chasm between her inner chaos and the yearning for connection? Deep within Ms. Jane Doe, there resides a monster, a familiar presence she has long acknowledged. She knows the destructive power it holds, … Continue reading Ms. Jane Doe

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At 4 a.m.

beatrizesmer

The world is still and quiet, a canvas waiting for the strokes of inspiration. Two hours before dawn, two hours to craft a poem that defies the ordinary. I’ve penned countless verses before, only to discard them in pursuit of a new beginning, unburdened by the weight of expectations. This time, I seek to transcend clichés and break free from the chains of repetitive patterns. I yearn to unravel life’s mysteries, to astonish myself with the beauty of uncharted words. Is it futile to weave yet another poem about love? The first rays of the sun emerge, offering a mere … Continue reading At 4 a.m.