I write little. Simple. Tiny words. But I write them as often as you pour water into a flowerpot. Eventually, my clumsy fingers will employ enough finesse to arrange a bouquet of words for you like lemonade and sugarplum or daffodil and ginger, but for now, all I can afford is this. A little water. A little thought. Tiny words to promise you that one day I’ll grow into something beautiful. One day… ❤️ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Little

How could I forget you my love?You helped me find myself when all was nothing but forgotten hopes.And I wished for you the same torment you gave me.Because with that self-fulfillment came the eyes that were brimmed with discovery of what had been done.And now I hate you.Hate that you gave me this freedom and made me wish it was gone.Hate that you allowed me to fall freely and then watched me fall straight on my back.Hate that I think of you every day and think of how you made me feel which ultimately is a feeling I will have … Continue reading Tormenter

Rain—the silent poet of the skies. It arrives unannounced, tapping on rooftops and windowpanes. Its language is fluid, a lexicon of whispers and sighs. Listen closely, and you’ll hear its verses—the rhythm of longing, the syntax of renewal. In the gray hours, when the world wears mist like a shroud, rain writes its first stanza. It paints the streets with liquid memories, washing away footprints and yesterday’s sorrows. Each droplet is a syllable—a soft punctuation in the story of now. On lonely afternoons, rain composes ballads. It weaves melodies from the pitter-patter on leaves, the staccato on sidewalks. The earth … Continue reading The Language of Rain

Clouds for stories.Trees swaying in the breeze.Home made dinner.A good bottle of red.Unspoken words.Silence, except for soft music.A little room to figure things out.Love is happening.Healing is happening.Beauty is happening.Because you don’t need to have it all be perfect, and healed,to share your light.We all have parts unfinished.That’s what keeps us moving,open,and real. Saravá …❤ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Sharing

If my heart stops beating, by and byIf my eyes don’t blink either closed or openTake me to the mountains, take me to the worldLet me hear birdsong unfiltered by pollutionLet me taste snow upon an unmoving lipLet me feel the breeze passed from aspen to pine to meLet me live in the wilds one last timeIf I rise again there is life still within meBe it one ounce, one grain, one cell,one molecule of life it will breed, it will growAnd I will be infused with life once moreIf I still do not move, bury me hereBut do not … Continue reading If

Skin, oh, how it speaks! Beneath my fingertips, it unravels stories—the delicate script of longing and desire. Each ridge, each curve, a chapter waiting to be explored. It’s like Braille, a language of touch that transcends mere sensation. I read you there, my fingers deciphering the map of your existence—the rise and fall of your breath, the hidden scars, the promises etched into your very being. And then, on my tongue, your name dances—a sweet syllable, a secret shared between heartbeats. It tastes of moonlight and stolen kisses, of whispered dreams and tangled limbs. Your name, a constellation in the … Continue reading Poetry of the night

The masterpiece begins with a pencil sketch—a hesitant line on blank paper, unsure of its purpose. Yet within that graphite stroke lies the seed of creation—the spark that will ignite galaxies. The novel, too, emerges from chaos, its first draft a tempest of characters and plot twists, seeking coherence. In this messiness, stories take root, their roots burrowing deep into the soil of imagination. And the symphony begins with a simple hum—a melody whispered over morning coffee, each sip carrying a chord, a rhythm, inviting the composer to orchestrate the universe. Every great creation—the cathedrals, the sonnets, the revolutions—starts with … Continue reading Masterpiece

We live in a world where ignorance is often embraced with pride. However, we must remember that ignorance is not a chosen burden, but a condition inherited from birth. Each individual is born without knowledge, but throughout life, we are granted the opportunity to learn and grow. One symptom is not knowing things, and another is not wanting to know things. Ignorance can be a condition in which a person finds themselves, and also something they actively strive to maintain, remaining obtuse and full of pride in their own arrogance. Allowing this ignorance to remain and flourish is a curious … Continue reading Cursed Legacy

We are all dependent on others to varying degrees. A language that denies this fact fuels a system that obscures the ways in which other people care for us. Words such as independence, self-reliance and self-made help create, and are created by, a dynamic within which people are ignored and devalued. Joan Tronto reminds us that by “not noticing how pervasive and central care is to human life, those who are in positions of power and privilege can continue to ignore and degrade the activities of care and those who give care.” Independence is perhaps the most fundamental of our … Continue reading Take good care of your love ones …

  Written in August 2012  There is this disembodied sadness that comes from having had, and then not having at all. The presence of touch traded in for the presence of absence. How awful it is. Sundays are for coffee and never opening your eyes long enough to look the day in the eye. But it’s night now, and I’m tired, and tomorrow morning, I’ll wake up and we’ll be where we were when we weren’t with each other. Miles and miles and miles away. But still, dwelling on things that shouldn’t be dwelt upon isn’t good for any organ … Continue reading Tonight