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...
Born alone, she entered a silent world,
An orphaned cry swallowed by dust and fate.
Her mother’s warmth was buried too soon,
Left behind in the hands of cruelty,
Where love was rationed and mercy unknown.
She wears happiness like borrowed skin,
A fragile disguise stitched with forced smiles.
Her laughter is an echo she learned to fake,
While her heart bleeds quietly,
Layered with scars no one asks to see.
Each day is a sentence without a crime,
Hands that serve, knees that bend,
A life mistaken for duty,
A child turned servant,
A soul chained to daily torture and invisible slavery.
At night, she whispers dreams to the dark,
Dreams of freedom that tremble but refuse to die.
She longs to breathe without fear,
To exist without apology,
To live beyond survival.
What a world she’s living in.
One that tests the innocent,
That hardens hearts and calls it normal.
Yet somewhere within her wounded chest,
Hope still stirs…
Quiet, stubborn, and waiting to be free.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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