I did not know that I would end up here.Here where the hummingbird does not sing.Here where people do not smile.Here where people come to when they are lost.Here where no one sleeps.Here where the forgotten ones come to be remembered by the dead. Of course the irony here–and everywhere this mindset exists–is that the whole scene is shot from the doorway. So yeah, glum resignation is an option, but so is just stepping back a few feet and–presto chango: you’re outside! The Space, the sky, is just a step or two backwards, away from proximity and identification. Step back … Continue reading 2014 — Madison, WI

To love someone as they are it is to walk through a gallery of their soul, observing not just the art that basks in sunlight, but also the pieces that lurk in dim corners. It is to embrace the strange, peculiar character that dances between warmth and coldness, like a day that fluctuates between the caress of sunshine and the bite of frost. Love me as I am, for I am full of contradictions. In the loom of my being, the threads of virtue and vice intertwine, crafting a design that is uniquely mine. The finished and the imperfect are … Continue reading Complexity

Dip the face, dissolve the amazementbreak figures, communicate: eyes, ear, bones…loose yourself into the liquid lifewith a little more caretouch, touch deep downuninhabited feet of sensesdistil the return of a crying filled with feelings and sorrowsclose the windowthe body into the body does not fail…Surrender yourself to humannessFeel the pulse of life in every living creature…❤️🙏 ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Surrender

In the quietude of the evening, there is a face that dips into the still waters of reflection, where amazement dissolves like sugar in tea, sweetening the depths of thought. It is a place where figures of speech break apart, their fragments floating away to form new means of communication. Eyes, bones, ears—each becomes unmoored, adrift in the liquid embrace of introspection. With a little more care, a touch more tenderness, one can reach the very bottom of being, touch the essence of self that lies uninhabited. Feet, senses, all that we are, unshackled from the gravity of the world … Continue reading In my solitude

When someone works for less pay than she can live on – when, for example, she goes hungry so that you can eat more cheaply and conveniently – then she has made a great sacrifice for you, she has made you a gift of some part of her abilities, her health, and her life. The “working poor,” as there are approvingly termed, are in fact the major philanthropists of our society. They neglect their own children so that the children of others will be cared for; they live in substandard housing so that other homes will be shiny and perfect; … Continue reading Workforce

My soul is a weathered manuscript, its pages inscribed with the whispers of forgotten moments carried by life’s winds. Chapped fingers, marked by time and labor, trace the edges of joy and sorrow, leaving ancient runes upon the fabric of memory. Even the sting of burnt tastebuds from hasty sips of coffee speaks of life’s complexities—pleasures that scorch if consumed too quickly. Through stumbles and bruises, each fall etches resilience into my being. The past flows beneath my skin, mingling triumph with defeat. Time softens scars but never erases them, stitching fragments of memory into an imperfect but beautiful whole. … Continue reading My soul

My last words to him Love, I leave you with no hard feelings. I want you to sing with happiness and never feel sorrow. Love, I will carry your sorrow. Read the books I left on your pillow, smell the lavender. Bring bread to the park to feed the ducks, remember, they’re always hungry. Shower her in cherry blossoms and bring her tea when her heart aches. I hope you never feel alone again.I fell out of my nest too long ago, I can’t be domesticated. I’m a lost, scared, fragile bird with broken wings that can’t heal. I’m trapped … Continue reading August, 25 1986

I liked words like progress, extract, transpose, scape, scope, inform. Relational words, scientific in nature, poetic in imagery, musical in utterance. I liked words that could pick apart, that could devour and tell. Give me new reasons to delve deeper, to conclude, to prove. To prove me to you, to prove me to myself. My mind is a chord humming from an uninvented instrument, a piece of equipment with a soft vocal frequency, a microscope of sorts, but something more shy, while simultaneously more hostile… ❤ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Words …

I don’t know who you think I am. But I am that woman you would barely look at on the street. I am the one curled up on the park bench at midnight, shivering. I am the one with the dirty fingernails and the shoes ripping at the soles. I am the shadow that you find in a dark alley. I am the creak of wood outside of your window, the monster that haunts you as you sleep. I write because there is no other way. There is nothing else that is left of me. I write because it is … Continue reading You don’t know

In my darkest hours, let me be the mirror that unwaveringly reflects the depths of my soul, and the echo that resounds with the truths I’ve whispered to the night. As the world slumbers, teach me the art of self-acceptance, to find peace in the liminal space where seeds of hope gestate and await the harvest of tomorrow. Grant me the gift of days yet to dawn, where I may weave threads of compassion missed in today’s tapestry, mending the fabric of a heart that faltered in its purpose. Confront me with the visage of my own selfishness, that I … Continue reading My Darkest Hours