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 into silence, not lullabies,
raised by nights that never asked his name.
His parents left too early,
carried away by untimely death,
leaving him with memories
He was too young to hold.
He sleeps where walls are borrowed,
a shelter that leaks when the sky cries.
Heavy rains drum lessons on tin roofs,
Thunder teaches him fear and courage
in the same breath.
He learned life from the wild,
how to listen, how to survive,
how hunger sharpens the senses,
And silence becomes a friend.
School gates were stories told by others
places his feet never reached.
Relatives with full tables turned away,
Their doors were locked by greedy hearts.
Blood meant little compared to comfort,
and love was measured in excuses.
Still, he stands weathered, unbroken,
stitched together by endurance.
A child shaped by storms and nights,
learning to live without mercy,
yet carrying a quiet strength
No shelter could ever contain.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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