We want to sell the truth that we build. We want to sell the image that we mold from ourselves. We want to sell what buys us. May they accept us for what we are without falsehood, they love us for we can love ourselves. May we reverse the order by condemning ourselves to surfaces. In our depthest, we ignore the convenience of the fears. We feel fragile, angry, dependent, needy — absent from us — leads us to convene Our anxieties, compulsions and other distractions not to deal with the our pains and monsters that we hold quiet, so … Continue reading How blind we are…

Today, I am 100 years old, my heart dances to the rhythm of a tambourine, vibrant and resonant. “Give me a kiss, my love,” I whisper, for today is not just another day—it’s a testament to a life richly lived. Stepping onto the asphalt, I feel the pulse of the city, the heartbeat of the world beneath my feet. Around us, the fools may frolic, their laughter mingling with the symphony of existence. The red traffic light, like a vigilant sentinel, halts the march of time, if only for a moment. In my pocket, a few cents jingle—the price of … Continue reading 100 years old

Every journalist who is not too naive or too self-absorbed to recognize reality understands the ethical dilemmas of their profession. Journalism, at its worst, can resemble a confidence game—exploiting people’s vanity, ignorance, or loneliness, gaining their trust only to betray them without remorse. Given the manipulation and deceptive tactics some colleagues employ to mislead the uneducated, I find it difficult to take pride in my profession. I feel deeply disappointed. However, I still hold onto the belief that if we truly wish to change the world, journalism remains one of the most immediate and powerful tools for short-term impact. April … Continue reading Journalist ‘s Day

I am my mother’s daughter. My heart will sink and soarthe same speed at which hers did.My voice shall tremble withthe same violence as I speak of loss.My arms shall cradle her thesame way she cradled me beforeI ever knew of fear or danger. Her blood shall always flowthrough my grateful veins…❤ Continue reading My mother

You can do it.’ Do you understand how amazing it is to hear that from an adult? Do you understand how amazing it is to hear that from anybody? It’s one of the simplest sentences in the world, just four words, but they’re the four hugest words in the world when they’re put together.You can do it.I can do it.Let’s do it… 😉❤️ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading You can do it!

I’ve always loved contrast……Maybe I’ve always loved you.You are the black to my white,The ultraviolet to my black hole,The infinite to my mortal.You are the unseen in the daylight,My bright star in the black of night…When my heart opens,When my soul awakens,My thoughts touch on youFor longer than they are supposed to…Even when I want to hide,I remember that I have forgotten how to forget you.…I don’t think I want to…❤️ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Contrast

Your body, a symphony of stardust and ancient echoes, echoes the fierce grace of lionesses. The same cosmic forge that shaped their sinew and fire courses through your veins. You are kin to the wild, a whisper of wilderness woven into flesh. Three-quarters water, you flow like rivers—relentless, carving canyons in the bedrock of existence. Your tears, saltwater streams, sculpted mountains, and valleys. Each drop, a testament to resilience, a hymn sung by the tides. In the helix dance of your DNA, wolf genes howl. Twenty amino acids, the alphabet of life, spell out your existence. You are the poetry … Continue reading “You Are So Much More”

He holds my poems in his hands like artifacts, delicate yet distant, as if the words might crumble beneath his fingertips. He says he wants to read them, but when I tell him there is more—so much more—he does not ask to hear it. He does not ask to see the words still trembling within me. I want to unfold the letters I have hidden, to show him the ink that dared to be braver than I ever was. My notebooks know the weight of my heart better than I do; they are homes for confessions I have never spoken … Continue reading My poems

I rent dreams. Fragile and ephemeral, they arrive like whispered secrets, carried on the wings of moonlight. Each dream, a delicate vessel, holds within it the promise of possibility. Life’s FragmentsTogether, they gather the fragments of life—the laughter shared over morning coffee, the tears shed in solitude, the fleeting touch of a loved one’s hand. These dreams are custodians of memories, keepers of moments that slip through our fingers like fine sand. Seedlings of FaithAnd there, nestled within their ethereal folds, lie seedlings of faith. Tiny, resilient, they take root in the fertile soil of our hearts. We plant them … Continue reading Dreams for Rent

There are no ready-made scripts, only characters and improvised dialogues of our ups and downs. A love that blooms unexpectedly, or one that teeters on the edge of ceasing. No necessary paths, just those that serve us and those that do not. No right door, only those that swing open and those that remain stubbornly shut. Sometimes, the best choice is not to choose at all. The most profound answer may be silence—a quiet surrender to the vastness of existence. And the cure that heals us, paradoxically, lies in feeling hurt. To live fully, we must embrace the possibility of … Continue reading The Inaccuracy of Us