Tag: poem

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Simple moments

beatrizesmer

The first cup of coffee in the morning is like a warm embrace for my soul. The aroma fills the air and wraps around me, awakening my senses and preparing me for the day ahead. It’s a ritual of comfort and anticipation, a moment of stillness before the world comes rushing in. Empty bookstores hold a special kind of magic. The shelves are lined with endless possibilities, each book a gateway to a new world or a new perspective. I love the quiet hum of potential that fills the air, the sense of discovery that comes with each turn of … Continue reading Simple moments

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We rise

beatrizesmer

I did not know that the bodies of women were meant to be a museum of tragedies, a collection of scars and wounds etched into our skin like ancient hieroglyphs. We are expected to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, to bear the burdens of others without breaking. But we are not meant to be vessels for the sorrows of the world, we are not meant to carry the ocean without drowning. Our bodies are not meant to be a repository for pain and suffering, but a vessel for strength and resilience. We are not defined by … Continue reading We rise

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Who would not want to hear a poem before sleeping at night?

beatrizesmer

As the world slips into slumber, who would not want to be cradled by the gentle cadence of a poet’s words? To feel the tender embrace of verse, like a lullaby for the soul, weaving dreams and whispers through the corridors of the mind. Who would not yearn for their essence to be captured in the delicate threads of a poet’s imagination? To have their eyelashes likened to the golden tendrils of sunlight, dancing through the morning’s embrace, casting warmth upon the world. And who could resist the allure of becoming a child once more, nestled in the arms of … Continue reading Who would not want to hear a poem before sleeping at night?

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Little box

beatrizesmer

In the depths of my mind, there lies a secret artifact a box of thought, adorned with elegance, a rare crystal in my imagination as insomnia wanders through my body, I am led to this poetess of prose amidst a disturbing serenity, I open the box and silently ponder its contents. Within this little world, there is a place for everyone where beings fit into my whole being, finding their own space Some alongside another, sharing existence and journeying together others finding solace in their own company, coexisting with themselves. In my little box, I keep these souls close eager … Continue reading Little box

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Let us cast aside the yoke of servitude

beatrizesmer

In the fleeting hours, where moments slip like sand through grasping fingers, it is time to break free from the shackles of servitude to the relentless march of time. Let us abandon the role of martyred slaves and instead embrace the intoxicating liberation that beckons us. Be ceaselessly drunk, not on the passing minutes and hours, but on the heady elixirs that stir the soul. Whether it be the crimson nectar of wine, its velvety depths swirling with stories untold, or the enchanting verses of poetry that dance upon the mind like whispers of the wind. Or perhaps, let us … Continue reading Let us cast aside the yoke of servitude

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My path, my destination …

beatrizesmer

I walk the path of survivors. It’s a path etched with the echoes of resilience, a journey I’ve known since my first breath, and one that intertwines with the rhythm of my beating heart. For much of this odyssey, I was veiled in darkness, stumbling through the unknown, grappling with the unseen. Each step was a gamble, a dance with uncertainty, and often I faltered, straying from the path I sought to tread. Obstacles loomed like giants, casting shadows that threatened to engulf me, and it seemed as though the very fabric of the world conspired against my every move. … Continue reading My path, my destination …

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Rain washing me away

beatrizesmer

There’s a spark beginning to burn, a flame flickering to life in the depths of my soul. It ignites feelings in my heart, a warmth that spreads and envelops me in its comforting embrace. It rushes through me like claps of thunder, echoing in the chambers of my being, shaking me to my very core. I can feel the rain as it falls, a gentle patter at first, then turning into a torrent, a deluge of emotions washing over me. It cleanses me, washing away my grief, my pain, my sorrow. It purifies my spirit, leaving behind a clean slate, … Continue reading Rain washing me away

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Made of sugar

beatrizesmer

In a world made of sugars, she longed for the taste of other poisons, believing that this oath would lead her to find happiness, a way to escape. Her desire was to evoke the most delicate blue in her eyes, to rediscover innocence in the smartest way, with no time for want. She immersed herself in a single word, one that could encompass all letters and sounds, to fill the void that demanded tears, yearning, and hope. This word, a universe in itself, held the power to explain everything that eluded her, encompassing her entirely. She crafted worlds, seeking other … Continue reading Made of sugar

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You see, I have this habit of turning people into poetry before they touch me

beatrizesmer

You see, I have this habit of turning people into poetry before they touch me. I weave their words and actions into stanzas and verses, creating a masterpiece of their essence and soul. Before they even speak, I can feel the rhythm of their being, the cadence of their existence. Every glance, every gesture, every breath becomes a line in the symphony of their presence. I find beauty in the way they move, the way they speak, the way they exist in this world. And so, I paint them with my words, capturing the essence of their being in the … Continue reading You see, I have this habit of turning people into poetry before they touch me

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Love me as the torrents of tides …

beatrizesmer

In the dance of our existence, if you desire to love me, let it be a tempest, a tempest that rages with the ferocity of a wild storm. Love me fiercely, with the imprint of your teeth, with the embrace of your hands, the passion in your eyes, and the rhythm of your hips. Love me with the force of thunder, with the raw essence of your being, with the fire that burns within your soul. Love me as if you were shaping the very fabric of the divine, sculpting the gods themselves with the intensity of your ardor. Love … Continue reading Love me as the torrents of tides …