They met me as one might meet a storm—cautiously, eyes scanning the sky for signs, bracing for the unknown. I do not unfold gently. I arrive in bursts and crescendos, my words not always palatable, my affections rarely tame. My love is not the kind found in tidy verses or love songs that rhyme. It is jagged and honest, stitched with longing and fire. It demands presence. It asks you not to sip but to drown a little, to forget the taste of tepid things. I have learned that I am an acquired taste—the kind that startles at first, then … Continue reading Storm

And in silence, until the words quiet within me,they are not typhoons—but breezes. Not lightning, nor thunder, nor fierce wind—just silent clouds adriftin a cotton-candy sky. They carry my reveries from north to south,hide my sunshine,clench my horizon, awaken my storms…Yet so shy, they only pour torrents—within me. ❤️ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Words

(a monologue) Time—what a luxury for thosewho walk upright beneath golden façades,cradled by warmth,traced by plans,blessed with calendars thatmean tomorrow. But me?I live where clocks forget to tick.Where lamplight flickersonly to reveal the rats,not the hour.There are no seconds here—only heartbeatsthat grow quietbeneath each concrete dawn. They pass me in haste,clutching their scheduleslike scripture,offended by my presence—a blemish on their linear lives.I watch themslave to their devices,willing prisonersto the stopwatch’s tyranny. And still,I do not envy them.I am time unmeasured.I breathe outside the tick.I wake when the cold gnawsand sleep only when memory fades.In this silence,I am free—not honored,not safe,but … Continue reading No Time for Me

They asked what I could never live without, and I answered with silence—not because I had none,but because your name would’ve caught fire on my tongue. You are the thought I carry in a closed fist, the reason my hands tremble in prayers I pretend aren’t meant for anyone.I speak in riddles so no one seesthat every metaphor is a door leading back to you. ❤️ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading 2011

The rooms of the house know what the heart cannot always name. They hold the weight of feeling, arranging themselves in quiet agreement with what aches, what lingers, what shelters. Sadness expands, pressing against the walls, placing the ones we love on the far side of the house, out of reach. We speak, but the distance swallows our words. Fear is small. It hides under the table, curled up in the dim light, waiting for the storm to pass. It listens to footsteps above, the hush of voices, the creak of uncertainty. Loneliness takes the corners, the empty spaces where … Continue reading Emotions & Spaces

Je suis lié, feuille après feuille. Des mains humaines m’ont façonné dans le silence de la nuit, bien avant que l’électricité et les automobiles ne soient imaginées. Sang, sueur et patience ont marqué ma naissance. Je suis le dernier noir de charbon, et pourtant la flamme même de la bougie qui éclairait mon créateur pourrait me engloutir. Je suis une création, une chose infime. Des doigts ont effleuré mes lignes, me transmettant de père en enfant, d’amant en amant, d’inconnu à inconnu. Maintenant, je suis là—cette présence immédiate, nichée parmi des piles de bois grouillant de lépismes. Je suis là, … Continue reading Mon âme de papier

Há uma linguagem demasiado profunda para que meras palavras possam capturá-la. É nesse espaço sagrado que “amor”, “paixão” e “êxtase” residem—não como meras expressões que caem dos lábios como folhas de outono, mas como forças titânicas que moldam os contornos da nossa própria essência. O amor, esse escultor eterno, vai lapidando nossas defesas, revelando a escultura luminosa que há dentro de nós. É uma melodia silenciosa cuja ressonância pode derrubar muros e erguer pontes para margens inalcançáveis. A paixão, a ardente pintora, cobre nossa tela com matizes tão vibrantes que se gravam na memória, incendiando nossos desejos e alimentando nossos … Continue reading Sentimentos

Les 13 commandements de la vie : Continue reading Les 13 commandements de la vie :

I offer no excuses, no explanations. I am far too tired to make the effort …And yet the poems, the sequences of words keep coming, too fast to be finessed well, a tumble of words and thoughts, and I am unused to this creative wellspring, not having seen its likes in years, decades, and I wonder why, why now, why when I want to gave up on the poems…Anyway, I wrote a poem another day, and once again, I’m sharing, even though it is rough, because the need to put this out here is stronger than my need to hide, … Continue reading Soup