Within the chaotic depths of my soul, where thunders of love and echoes of longing reside, my heart does not merely beat—it rebels. It is a wild drummer, pounding against the walls of my chest with the fervor of a thousand storms. Each throb is a testament to the untamed dance of my spirit, a rhythmic spanking that awakens every fiber of my existence.
It speaks in a language only the soul understands, a dialect of desire that courses through my veins like liquid fire. This heart of mine, it does not beat… it spanks me, reminding me that to feel is to be alive, to love is to be free. It is both my captor and liberator, a paradox wrapped in the sweetest pain.
With every spank, it sculpts the moments of my life, chiseling away at the marble of the mundane to reveal the masterpiece beneath. It is the artist and the art, the painter and the canvas, the poet, and the poem. In its relentless rhythm, I find the beauty of existence, the agony and ecstasy of being hopelessly, helplessly human.
Copyright © Beatriz Esmer
Beatriz Esmer 