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...
Just when I thought I’d seen it all,
Life whispered, wait—there’s more.
Each dawn unfolded a hidden page,
A truth I hadn’t read before.
I walked once clothed in borrowed lies,
A name bruised by slander’s breath,
Blame like stones upon my back,
Critics writing my living death.
I stood alone in echoed doubt,
My shadow heavy with their words,
Yet time, that silent keeper of scales,
Heard what justice never heard.
For life’s great mystery turned its key,
Slow, unseen, yet deeply kind,
And washed my name in patient light,
Leaving falsehoods far behind.
Now I rise as living proof,
A mirror polished by the storm,
A testimony born of truth,
From brokenness to fully formed.
I am my story, clear and whole,
No borrowed voice, no twisted view,
Life unfolded—and in its grace,
I finally met the real me, too.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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