Skip to main content

It's Not About You #poemaday #poetryaddict #poem

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
Post a Comment

What am I? #poem

After all these years of breaking quietly,
of carrying pain like a second name
No one has bothered to pronounce me right

I walk through a world
that sharpens its edges on my skin,
asking me to be softer, stronger, smaller—
anything but myself.
Every mirror asks a question
I don’t know how to answer.

I am made of scars
that never learned how to fade,
of nights that stretched too long,
of mornings that arrived without mercy.
I survived them all,
Though survival feels like a language
I’m still learning to speak.

I search for myself
in borrowed smiles,
in half-remembered dreams,
in the silence between my thoughts.
Am I the pain that shaped me?
Am I the hope that refuses to die?
Am I lost?
Am I simply unclaimed?

The world is loud with cruelty,
with hands that take
before they learn how to hold.
I stand in the middle of it,
unsure where I belong,
unsure if belonging
is something people like me are allowed.

Still, beneath the confusion,
something breathes.
A fragile, stubborn truth
that whispers when I am quiet:
I am more than what hurt me.
I am becoming,
even when I don’t know into what.

So what am I?
I am a question still unfolding,
a soul learning its own shape
in a world that tried to erase it.


© 2025 Gloria Penelope

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Where Her Heartbeat Remains #sadpoetry #poetryaddict #poemofgrief

She was here, for a moment too small for the clocks to measure, too brief for the world to understand, yet long enough to leave fingerprints upon a mother's soul. A baby girl. A whispered promise wrapped in fragile dreams, carried beneath a hopeful heart that had already imagined a thousand tomorrows. Then came the silence. A silence so heavy it bent the walls inward. A silence that settled inside empty rooms, inside folded blankets, inside the spaces where laughter was meant to grow. The mother wept. Not the gentle tears that fall with ordinary sadness. These were ancient tears. The kind born from a wound too deep for language, too sacred for explanation. She cried for first steps that would never mark the floor. For tiny hands that would never reach for hers. For lullabies that would remain unsung, their melodies trapped forever inside her trembling chest. Night after night, she gathered her grief like broken glass. Each memory, each dream, each unanswered prayer cut her anew. Th...
Post a Comment
Read more

Laughter in Dark Corners #poem #freeverse #poetryaddict

 In the house where the wallpaper peels like old confessions, laughter survives first. Not in the kitchen where the clocks hold their breath, nor in the doorway where apologies rot in the frame, but in dark corners. There, beneath the stairs, behind coats smelling of rain and cigarettes, someone once laughed so hard the dust woke up dancing. The sound stayed. Even now, midnight gathers itself in the sharp mouths of rooms, and grief walks carefully, counting its silverware, checking the locks twice. Still... from the corner near the furnace, a crooked little laugh escapes, warm as contraband. It knows things. It knows sorrow is heavy but never balanced. Knows fear hates being mocked. Knows shadows loosen when somebody grins inside them. So the laughter waits there, knees tucked to its chest, bright-eyed as a stray cat, refusing extinction. And sometimes, when the whole house aches with silence, it rises, small at first, a cracked teacup sound, a thief of funerals, until even the dar...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Empty Frame #sadpoetry #poetrydaily #poetryaddict

I built my future out of sleepless nights, Stacking tomorrow on pages of yesterday. Every examination felt like a doorway, Every certificate, another key. They applauded the day I crossed the stage. Smiles were handed to me like promises. They said the world belonged to those who learned. No one warned me that a key cannot open a door that was never built. My qualifications sleep inside a folder, Protected from dust, Yet helpless against unpaid bills. The world asks what I can produce, Not how many books I have survived. I memorized the language of success, But no one taught me how failure introduces itself without knocking. How strange it is to know the answers in a classroom, Yet stand speechless before life. Education sharpened my mind, But it could not soften rejection. It taught me to calculate numbers, Yet never measured the distance between effort and opportunity. There are days I feel like a library placed in the middle of a desert. Filled with knowledge, Surrounded by thirst. ...
Post a Comment
Read more