There is a place inside you No map has ever traced, a quiet room behind the ribs where light forgets to stay. No one sees it when you smile, No one hears it when you speak. It moves beneath your laughter like a river running deep. It is yours alone to carry, not carved for other hands, a language made of silence Only your soul understands. Some mornings it is heavier, a stone you cannot name, And still you rise and wear your life as if it were the same. But pain, it does not leave you when ignored or pushed away, it waits within the folds of time, it learns you day by day. It is not your enemy, though it cuts without a sound; it is the truth you buried but still lives underground. And yes, there are nights it breaks you, when endurance feels too wide, when even breath feels borrowed And there is nowhere left to hide. Yet somehow you continue, not because you do not fall, but because within the breaking You still answer life’s call. You learn to walk beside it, not beneath it, not above...
They gave hatred a name,
A nickname sharp as stone,
Spoken in laughter,
As if I was never born whole.
They forgot I had a real name,
One whispered once with care,
Now buried under jokes and smirks,
Lost in the open air.
Laughter rose like a cruel fire,
Hatred dressed as play,
Every word is a quiet push
Pulling my fragile soul away.
Negativity held me by the ankles,
Dragged me through each day,
While dreams grew tired of standing
And hope learned how to sway.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,
Just rooms full of broken ties,
Family wounds left open wide,
Conflicts that never learned to die.
I cried in silence,
Tears with no cloth to claim,
No shoulder, no mercy,
Only the echo of shame.
What a shame, this world can be—
To strip a soul of dignity,
To laugh while someone disappears
Slowly, painfully, silently.
Yet still I breathe beneath the weight,
Still carry the truth they tried to erase:
I was never the name they used—
I was a human,
I had a face.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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