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...
My heart walks with stones inside it
forged beneath the weight of nameless days.
Trauma writes its scripture in my chest,
inked in echoes, scars that speak
even when my mouth is silent.
Days stretch longer than nights.
hours drift like ash with nowhere to settle.
I wait in corridors of refusal,
Where doors learn my face
and still choose not to open.
They belittle me, with questions wrapped in smiles.
tongues sharpened into polite cruelty.
They weigh my life on scales of currency,
call me lacking,
as if worth were minted, not lived.
Poverty is my nickname where I stay,
I'm a quiet tenant feeding on restraint.
Hunger is my daily language,
teaching my body humility
before the world teaches me about mercy.
Still, I breathe
not because life is kind,
but because something stubborn remains.
A small defiance, unbought and unbroken,
refusing to disappear.
My heart is heavy, yes,
But it still beats.
And in a world that keeps counting losses,
that alone
is an act of survival.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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