Tag: writing

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To a little black bird in my chest …

beatrizesmer

I am writing for the little blackbird in my chest; she used to be a bluebird, with a throat made of honey, but now she smokes all my tar, and drinks all my wine. Once, she soared through the azure expanse of my soul, her song a symphony of sweetness, her wings aglow with the light of hope. Her melody wove through the chambers of my heart, a lullaby that brought solace to my weary spirit. But as the shadows lengthened and the world grew heavy, she turned to the bitter taste of tar, the suffocating embrace of smoke. Her … Continue reading To a little black bird in my chest …

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Where is your other you?

beatrizesmer

Where is your other you? In the wall? The furniture? The ceiling? I leaned over your face, sure of myself, as if I were a mirror, and sadly searched for you. But that, too, was to no avail, like everything else. In the stillness of the room, I sought the echo of your essence, the lingering imprint of your presence. I traced the contours of the walls, hoping to find the whispers of your soul woven into the very fabric of the space. Yet, all I found were silent witnesses, bearing no trace of your elusive spirit. I turned to … Continue reading Where is your other you?

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Go deeper …

beatrizesmer

Love deeper than the surface, where the shallow tides of appearance ebb and flow. Delve into the depths where hearts intertwine and souls entwine, where the true essence of connection resides. Beyond the veneer of fleeting beauty, seek the enduring radiance that emanates from within, the kind that transcends the boundaries of time and space. If you love what you see, go deeper. Peer beyond the transient facade and into the labyrinth of emotions, where vulnerability and authenticity intertwine. Embrace the complexities that lie beneath the surface, for it is there that the most profound connections are forged. Beauty deeper … Continue reading Go deeper …

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My home …

beatrizesmer

My home is a shrine to my womanliness, a sanctuary where my essence is woven into every corner and crevice. It is a tapestry of textures, art, books, and photographs, a symphony of patterns that dance together to please my senses and reflect the depths of my being. Just as my home is an extension of my desires, a manifestation of my eclectic mix of wants, needs, and passions, my soul is a kaleidoscope of emotions, joys, and unresolved pain. Each desire stands as a testament to my journey, telling its own compelling story and propelling me toward love and … Continue reading My home …

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January 06, 2013

beatrizesmer

A truth was whispered into the universe. They say “opposites attract,” but I believe it’s people like us who fall in love with people like us. We fall in love with ourselves, with the depth and the yearning that resides within. It takes more than just anyone to be with one of us. We see the world with a different lens, longing for the essence of others, inhaling the words they exhale. We see more in people because of what we know about ourselves. We fall in love with those who possess beautiful words, profound thoughts, and the ability to … Continue reading January 06, 2013

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A symphony of beginnings …

beatrizesmer

This is not a finish, but a symphony of beginnings, a full-bodied, big-boned overture to a story yet untold. This is an invitation to kiss me, not to possess, but to affirm my own existence. Hold me up to the noonday sun, where its golden light ignites my skin, turning it the red of my inner fire. Follow me down to the black roads, where I etch my name onto the pavement, larger than life, a declaration of my presence. Read me out, letter by heavy letter, unraveling the intricacies of my being. Hold me under your tongue, let me … Continue reading A symphony of beginnings …

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You are a thunderstorm, a symphony of beauty …

beatrizesmer

“But my dear,” he said, “you are not a story.” You are not a refuge, a tale to escape the world’s worries. You are not crafted to be a mere display, a set of words to elegantly sway. You are not the triumph of good over evil, nor a fable of light against dark. You are a thunderstorm, a symphony of beauty and fear, a balance so perfect, kind yet fierce, painfully real, my dear. You are not a chapter to be read and closed, not a narrative that’s easily disposed of. You are the rawness of truth, the complexity … Continue reading You are a thunderstorm, a symphony of beauty …

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If you want to talk to me …

beatrizesmer

If you want to talk to me, do not delay, for tomorrow I will be a different soul, a different ray. I will dismantle my house, my body, my being, to make room for something new, something freeing. I’ll be in the corners, selling my poems to the wind, even if no one buys, my words will be pinned. If you want to help, it has to be now, for I will soon walk through the rain alone, with a heart that’s unknown. I’ll sing and shout as I light candles bright, bleeding through the arrow, the cupid’s own flight. … Continue reading If you want to talk to me …

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Some days are so hard …

beatrizesmer

And on some days, I break. The weight of the world bears down upon me, and I falter under the burden of my own existence. The cracks in my spirit widen, and I feel the pieces of my resolve crumbling beneath the relentless pressure. But on some days, I try again. I gather the fragments of my shattered spirit, and with trembling hands, I piece them back together. I summon the strength to rise from the ashes of my despair, to defy the darkness that threatens to consume me. And on those days, I find the courage to face the … Continue reading Some days are so hard …

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My home

beatrizesmer

My home is not a mere place, not just bricks and mortar, but a yearning that resides deep within, obscured by the hustle and bustle of daily life. It is a longing that transcends physical boundaries and material possessions. My home is the people who fill my heart with warmth, love, and understanding. It is the laughter, the tears, the shared moments that weave the tapestry of my existence. My home is not confined to four walls, but it encompasses the vast expanse of life itself. It is the symphony of nature, the rustling leaves, the whispering winds, and the … Continue reading My home