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 spoke my name
like it wasn’t mine.
Bent it.
Passed it around
in rooms I never entered,
in mouths that never asked me anything.
They said it loud,
confident,
Like lies get stronger
When you don’t hesitate.
And suddenly
I was guilty of stories
I never lived,
wearing accusations
like clothes someone else tailored for me.
Have you ever watched the truth
stand in the corner
While rumors get the microphone?
I have.
It hurts quieter than shouting
but deeper than fists.
I learned how silence feels
when it’s mistaken for weakness.
How dignity gets heavy
when you’re carrying it alone.
But hear me—
lies travel fast,
yeah,
but they don’t age well.
Truth limps,
but it arrives with receipts.
I’m still here.
Scarred, yes.
But not erased.
You can poison my name,
But you can’t live my life for me.
I walk forward
with my head high,
because one day
the same mouths that broke me
will choke on the truth.
And when that day comes,
I won’t scream.
I won’t explain.
My survival
will say everything.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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