The mountain never bowed to applause, Nor did the river pause for tears. The sky has carried a thousand storms Without remembering a single face. You are a traveler, not the road. A heartbeat, not the clock. The world was already speaking Long before it learned your name. Some goodbyes bloom from seasons, Not from mistakes. Some distances are drawn by time, Not by the hands that reach across them. Don't make yourself the author Of every unfinished sentence. Some pages are left blank Because silence belongs there. There is a strange mercy In not standing at the center Of every ending, Of every change. The sun does not rise to prove a point. The stars do not dim to send a message. Life simply unfolds, Wild, indifferent, beautiful. So carry your kindness, Leave your footprints lightly, And when the world turns without asking, Smile. It's not about you. That's how it is. © 2026 Gloria Penelope
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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