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...
What a cruel truth
this world keeps hidden.
They do not apologize
When they wrong you.
Instead,
They rewrite the story
and place you on trial.
They bruise you.
Then paint the wounds
as proof of your weakness.
They dress their actions
to suit your image,
So the world may turn against you
while they stand untouched.
What a hard world this is
where silence is mistaken for guilt,
and pain is used as evidence
against the one who endured it.
Do not let them shame you into quiet.
Do not let their comfort
be bought with your suffering.
Refuse the lie
that their cruelty defines your worth.
You are not guilty
for being hurt.
You are not less
for surviving.
And you do not owe anyone
your silence.
Stand firm.
Truth does not need permission
to exist.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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