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...
Forgiveness won’t come easily
no,
It may never come at all.
I lived a life ruled by hardships
written in his handwriting,
laws designed for his comfort,
his benefit,
His escape.
I survived inside rules
that never protected me.
These scars were not accidents.
They were carved
by a careless heart,
by disrespect dressed as love,
by dishonesty that learned my face
and lied to it daily.
He fed me false truths
over and over,
as if my mind was empty,
as if I could not feel the weight
of being fooled, as if I was a child.
I was expected to forget.
To absolve.
To soften the damage
so he could sleep at night.
But forgiveness lives far from my heart
So far, it cannot hear my name.
It will not walk toward me,
not now,
not with time,
not with death.
Even my grave will not open for it.
This is not bitterness
This is memory standing its ground.
Forgiveness will not resurface.
Some wounds do not ask to be healed.
They ask to be remembered
So the truth is never rewritten.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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