Tag: poem

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In the quiet of the night,

beatrizesmer

Our bodies danced to a rhythm known only to us. Fingers brushed against skin, tracing delicate paths across thighs, leaving trails of warmth. Softness met softness, and in that tender collision, we discovered secrets hidden in the folds of our existence. Your lips found solace on my back, imprinting kisses like whispered promises. With each touch, you unfolded me, as if unseating shoulder-bones and undoing hips were acts of devotion. My spine, a delicate manuscript, yielded to your touch, revealing chapters of longing and desire. “I am not a bird,” I whispered, my voice a fragile confession. “I am not … Continue reading In the quiet of the night,

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Prose on Love, Kindness, and Openness of Heart

beatrizesmer

In the quietude of your words, there lies a profound truth, a gentle whisper amidst the cacophony of the mundane. You speak of weariness, a soul’s lament at the masquerade that dances around the essence of our being. Yet, in this confession, there is a plea, a yearning for the genuine, the pure, the heartfelt. “I’m sorry if my responses sound silly to you at times,” you say, and in this apology, there is an innocence, a disarming honesty that beckons one closer. For what is silliness, but the joyous laughter of a spirit unburdened by pretense, a mind liberated from … Continue reading Prose on Love, Kindness, and Openness of Heart

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A love like a brook

beatrizesmer

Love, in its purest form, should be like a brook. It meanders, winding its way through the landscape of our hearts, carving a path that is uniquely its own. It does not feel guilt for not following a straight line, for it understands that the journey of love is not about the shortest distance between two points, but about the richness of the experiences along the way. The brook knows that its destiny is to become one with the sea. It does not resist this fate, but embraces it, understanding that this is the natural progression of its journey. Similarly, … Continue reading A love like a brook

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The dark night of the soul

beatrizesmer

In the shadows of my soul, where light is but a distant memory, I found myself. The dark night of the soul, a journey not for the faint-hearted, but for those who dare to face their deepest fears. It was a plunge into the abyss, a descent into the uncharted depths of my being. The consequences were immediate and profound. I was seized by shivers, a chilling reminder of the unknown that lay ahead. All familiar landmarks vanished, swallowed by the inky blackness. I was adrift in a sea of uncertainty, the compass of my soul spinning wildly, offering no … Continue reading The dark night of the soul

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My Nocturnal Reveries

beatrizesmer

As dusk gives way to the night’s embrace, my thoughts unfurl into a grand amphitheater of introspection. The stage is set, the spotlight dims, and the performance of my psyche begins. Here, in this hallowed hall of reverie, the drapes of my mind’s eye remain ever wide, revealing a panorama of paths once trodden and words left unvoiced. A gale of remembrance encircles me, a tempest born from the whispers and shadows of yesteryear. It dances through the corridors of my being, a choreography of chaos, each step a memory, each turn a tale untold. The stillness of the night … Continue reading My Nocturnal Reveries

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Walking in another’s shoes …

beatrizesmer

What must one do to thrive in a realm so different from their own? Is it enough to sit back, inhale deeply, and let the smoke carry away the coherent thoughts, leaving behind only the abstract musings of the night? Or is it to wander the desolate sands, where the only touch is that of a bullet’s kiss, or to endure the symphony of an infant’s cries that pierce the silence of the early hours? What fabric weaves the essence of you and me? If I step outside these walls that echo with the incessant call of ‘mom’, if I … Continue reading Walking in another’s shoes …

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Canvas of Emotions

beatrizesmer

Haven’t you ever wanted to be able to capture the raw emotion you feel when you’re depressed, petrified, elated, or in love? To have the complex ability to convey those feelings smoothly with ink, lead, or paint onto a blank piece of paper, acting as your canvas? In moments of deep solidarity, we become acutely aware of these feelings—those elusive, untranslatable emotions that defy the limits of language. They grip us tightly, like the weight of forgotten regrets and the ache of past mistakes. Tears well up, revealing only a hint of the complexity of sadness within. And then there’s … Continue reading Canvas of Emotions

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Dreams for Rent

beatrizesmer

In the quiet corners of existence, 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 Fragments Together, 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 Faith And there, nestled within their ethereal folds, lie seedlings of faith. Tiny, resilient, they take root in the … Continue reading Dreams for Rent

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Museum of Tragedies

beatrizesmer

In the quiet chambers of flesh, where veins weave stories, women harbor more than mere existence. They are not vessels for sorrow, but rather, repositories of resilience. Each curve, each scar, whispers a saga—a delicate tapestry woven from threads of joy and pain. The body, a museum of tragedies, houses memories etched in skin, eternally inscribed. The weight they bear is not a burden, but an ocean—an expanse of saltwater and secrets. They navigate its depths, tides rising and falling, yet never succumb to drowning. For within them resides the alchemy of survival—the art of transforming grief into strength. They … Continue reading Museum of Tragedies

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Stitching Time

beatrizesmer

I am a poor tailor of time. My fingers fumble with the delicate fabric of moments, trying to weave coherence from chaos. But the measurements elude me, slipping through my grasp like sand. The cloth always falls short, leaving frayed edges and unfinished seams. Pockets of hours, those tiny sanctuaries, mock me. They are too small, insufficient for the grand designs I envision. I stitch them together, patchwork-style, hoping to create a quilt of purpose. Yet, the threads tangle, forming knots of uncertainty. My routine becomes a labyrinth, a maze of missed stitches and dropped needles. And in this weaving, … Continue reading Stitching Time