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When Your Hands Are Empty #poemofhope #faithpoetry #spokenwordpoetry

There will be a season when you have done all you know to do and still, nothing. No answer at the door. No sudden change. No sign in the sky telling you that tomorrow will be kinder. Just you, your unanswered prayer, and the strange silence that makes you question whether God is still listening. He is. Do not mistake silence for absence. Some of God's deepest work happens without making a sound. Roots grow in darkness. Healing happens beneath skin. Morning begins long before the window knows there is light. And somewhere beyond what you can see, your life is being moved by hands you cannot follow. So do not abandon your faith because you cannot trace God's footsteps. You were never promised a clear view. You were given enough light for the next step. Take it. Even if your knees shake. Even if your heart has questions your mouth is afraid to ask. Take it. Faith is not a life without uncertainty. It is waking up with uncertainty beside you and refusing to let it choose your direc...
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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

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