Tag: writing

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Poet’s soul

beatrizesmer

In the boundless expanse of existence, I am without form, without limit. Beyond the confines of space, beyond the constraints of time, I transcend, I expand. I am in everything, and everything finds its dwelling within me. I am the whisper of the wind, the dance of the leaves, the gentle caress of the waves upon the shore. I am the vibrant hues of the sunset, the mystique of the starlit night. I am the essence of life, the pulse of creation, the symphony of the cosmos. I am the bliss that permeates the universe, an eternal melody echoing through … Continue reading Poet’s soul

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Who loves you …

beatrizesmer

In the eyes of those who love you, there is no room for judgment or condemnation. They see beyond the mistakes and the flaws, and instead, they hold onto the memories of your true essence. When you feel lost in the shadows of your own doubts and insecurities, they are there to remind you of the light that shines within you. They see your beauty, even when you can’t see it yourself. They see your strength, even when you feel broken and fragile. They see the innocence in your heart, even when guilt weighs heavy on your soul. And when … Continue reading Who loves you …

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I used to think I was not good enough for anyone, in my profession…

beatrizesmer

In the quiet of night, when the world is hushed and still, a whisper creeps into the chambers of my mind, echoing doubts I thought I had overcome. It speaks of inadequacy, of not measuring up, weaving self-doubts that once ensnared me in its suffocating embrace. I used to believe I was not enough, that my efforts would never be sufficient, that my presence was merely a fleeting shadow in the grand theater of life. The doubts lingered like ghosts, haunting my profession, my relationships, and every corner of my existence. But I broke free from those chains, shattered the … Continue reading I used to think I was not good enough for anyone, in my profession…

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Pour yourself over the paper …

beatrizesmer

Drag a pen across paper, etching your pain into the fibers, leaving behind a trail of tear-stained corners. Breathe hot, alcohol-scented breaths into the pages, a futile attempt to silence the screams within. Handle it with caution, as if it were poison, a dangerous concoction of your innermost thoughts and emotions. Slide it between the leaves of an old dusty book, a hidden treasure of your turmoil, and then walk away, never to revisit its haunting words. Feel it in the swell of your chest on good days, a reminder that even in moments of joy, the pain still lingers. … Continue reading Pour yourself over the paper …

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Mother

beatrizesmer

A beacon of love and understanding, come, indulge in the tales of my untraveled journeys, bring forth red ink, the hue of life’s essence, ink that mirrors the pulse of existence, vivid and real. Mother, run your gentle fingers through my hair, for my soul yearns to wander, to explore the unknown, my mind, a vessel of memories not yet lived, thirsty for the promise of discovery, longing for the open road. When you return, ascend the steps to our abode, each one a testament to the rhythm of our lives, I will learn them by heart, as I yearn … Continue reading Mother

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I am a hundred different people

beatrizesmer

I am a hundred different people outside of my words, a kaleidoscope of emotions and experiences that dance and shift with the passing of time. I am a chameleon, adapting to the world around me, never quite settling on a single identity. But when I pick up a pen and let the ink flow onto the page, I become something more. Poetry may not be who I am, but it is the only way I am truly recognized. In the rhythm of my verses, in the imagery of my lines, I find a reflection of my true self. Through poetry, … Continue reading I am a hundred different people

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Poetry is a love affair between the soul and words …

beatrizesmer

Poetry is a love affair between the soul and words, a dance of emotions and thoughts intertwined. It is the way of the heart to express its deepest desires and fears, to whisper its secrets and dreams to the world. In the delicate balance of rhythm and rhyme, the soul finds solace and release. Each word a brushstroke on the canvas of the heart, painting a picture of the innermost feelings and yearnings. Through poetry, the soul speaks its truth, weaving a tapestry of emotions that resonate with the hearts of others. It is a prayer, a plea for understanding … Continue reading Poetry is a love affair between the soul and words …

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Your love

beatrizesmer

I thought about your love,and how it was significantly different from all of the others.I thought about your words and how every time you spoke it sounded like a quiet rainfall sent to quench the drought in my soul.I thought about your laughter and how it sent echoes of life through my worn out soul.I thought about your hands, and how the thought of them tangled in mine made me forget the weight life had handed them to carry. You gave me comfort,after I drained myself giving it to those around me.And you may think that’s what makes you different-but … Continue reading Your love

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Memories

beatrizesmer

In the quiet moments, when the world slows down and the memories come rushing in like a tidal wave, it’s amazing how a single chord or a familiar smell can transport us back to a time long gone. It’s as if the notes of a song or the scent of a flower have the power to unlock the hidden chambers of our hearts, releasing a flood of bittersweet memories that can bring a smile to our lips or a tear to our eye. The melody of a long-forgotten tune can whisk us away to a summer day, filled with laughter … Continue reading Memories

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Am I just a fool?

beatrizesmer

Am I just a fool? The voice in my head denies it. I have tasted the fruit called Life, savored its sweetness, and endured its bitterness. Through this, I’ve gained wisdom beyond my years, learning from the fears and tears of my impertinent childhood, an irrefutable lesson. Pride, once excusable, now seems nothing more than a facade. Excuse me for my ignorance, for I used to believe that crime pays. The irony of life reveals itself when you realize that getting caught means paying the ultimate price. Ignorance, a more lethal weapon than any unsheathed sword, almost decapitated my belief … Continue reading Am I just a fool?