Tag: writing

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Being Strong

beatrizesmer

In the quiet core of your being, listen. Listen to the salted caramel voices of the women within you. Their whispers are the echoes of a thousand generations, a symphony of strength and resilience. Their stories, heavy with wisdom and experience, paint vivid pictures on the canvas of your skin. This skin, it’s thick. Thick like the barriers we’ve crossed, the obstacles we’ve overcome. Thick like the borders we’ve birthed, the lines we’ve drawn in the sand to claim our space in the world. Thick like the borders we’ve burned, the constraints we’ve shattered in our quest for freedom. Yet, … Continue reading Being Strong

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Tears…

beatrizesmer

Tears that streamed down my cheeks and vanished abruptly on my lips. I wept for the first time in my youth, on the initial day of detachment from beloved ones, in my teenage years, for the first love’s deceit… for the initial blemish on my face. Subsequently, I refined my weeping. I shed tears for hatred, disillusionment, disappointment, despair, agony, fear, and yearning! I also chuckled, enchanted, and elated. I wept out of loathing for those who mercilessly perpetrate atrocities against our kin. I sobbed in disillusionment and disappointment at those who maliciously betrayed my trust and all the love … Continue reading Tears…

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On Any Given Sunday

beatrizesmer

In the quietude of late Sundays, the world dons a hue that defies definition. It’s the color of storm clouds quivering on the horizon, their charcoal gray promising both tempest and release. The kettle sings its lonely song, brewing coffee for one, while the television screen flickers with nothing good to offer—a monotonous hum in the background. An empty house stands sentinel on this domestic day. The dry wind stirs along the empty streets, weaving through abandoned alleys like a thousand restless ghosts. It carries secrets whispered by forgotten memories, rustling leaves and discarded wrappers in its wake. And there, … Continue reading On Any Given Sunday

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The Bridge of Laughter and Tears

beatrizesmer

In the quiet hours of our shared existence, we dream of a bridge—a fragile span woven from laughter and tears. It is not a bridge of stone or steel, but of ephemeral moments that bind us. One day, we will laugh until our bellies ache, our eyes crinkling at the corners. Our laughter will echo across the chasm, filling the void with joy. We’ll share secrets, silly jokes, and memories—the kind that linger like the scent of rain on warm earth. And then, when the world turns somber, we’ll cry. Not the quiet tears of solitude, but the kind that … Continue reading The Bridge of Laughter and Tears

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The Imprints of Human Connection

beatrizesmer

I want to write about the language of touch, the silent conversations held in the clasp of hands, the secrets whispered through fingertips. I want to write about the way a mother’s hand can soothe a child, the way a lover’s touch can ignite a spark, the way a friend’s comforting pat can ease a burden. I want to write about the domestic dance of marriage, the rhythm of routine, the melody of shared moments. I want to explore the growing void that can creep into the most intimate of spaces, the separate beds in a shared room, the unspoken … Continue reading The Imprints of Human Connection

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The Dance of Seasons

beatrizesmer

I am changing, a perpetual metamorphosis. Like a leaf caught in the whims of time, I twirl through the seasons. Each turn brings a new hue, a fresh face to the world. In spring, I unfurl like a tender bud, reaching for the sun. My veins pulse with life, and I wear the green cloak of hope. The air smells of possibility, and I sway with the breeze, eager to embrace the warmth. Summer arrives, and I bask in the golden glory. My edges crisp, kissed by the sun’s fiery lips. I am vibrant, alive, and my laughter rustles through … Continue reading The Dance of Seasons

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The Odyssey of Becoming

beatrizesmer

Lovable, a foreign concept until now, whispered through the winds of change. It danced around me, an elusive waltz, until I dared to embrace its rhythm. I dared you to count the limitless ways I died and was born again. Each death a closing chapter, each rebirth a blank page filled with the ink of possibility. I threw tantrums, the universe my witness, as I shattered the cocoon of my former self. I gnawed and scratched my way out of myself to grow, to adapt to my potential. My cries were not of despair but of determination, echoing across the … Continue reading The Odyssey of Becoming

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Clandestine Prose

beatrizesmer

In a world where retribution rules, an eye for an eye, a bullet for a bullet, a tooth for a tooth, the cycle of vengeance spins without end. Clandestine smugglers recite verses of deceit, not the sweet nothings of lovers. Their words burst through the silence of the night, restless echoes in the cold, dark streets. These are the souls disenchanted with any semblance of innocence, their lives a stark contrast to the purity they once knew. They wander between the cars, begging at the closed signals of society’s indifference, their eyes pierced with the sharpness of reality, like the … Continue reading Clandestine Prose

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Hall of Fame Of This Life

beatrizesmer

In the library of existence, our lives are but volumes on the shelves of time. Each soul’s narrative, a unique composition, striving to etch its essence onto the parchment of reality. We are the authors, the protagonists, the critics of our own tales, fervently inscribing chapters with the ink of our choices, our joys, our sorrows. What worth is a life, one might ponder, devoid of a tale to recount? Yet, the value lies not in the grandiosity of the plot, but in the sincerity of its prose. For the monuments we seek, the legacies we yearn to leave behind, … Continue reading Hall of Fame Of This Life

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When You Come

beatrizesmer

From the bottom of my heart, I lay words on the parchment of time, a humble plea to the celestial expanse. I implore the sky to shower its blessings upon your path, to water your feet with the dew of affection, and to bewilder you with the beauty of blossoms. In the labyrinth of existence, where paths twist and turn, I yearn to find you at the day’s end, in the golden hues of the western horizon. As I traverse the winding path of the present, your love is my compass, guiding me towards a future where my path straightens, … Continue reading When You Come