Love was never a heartbeat. It was the echo left behind after the heart forgot why it was still beating. It arrived wearing another person's face, its hands stitched together from promises that had already begun to rot. I welcomed it. Not because it was kind, but because loneliness knows how to mistake a wolf for warmth. Every smile it offered cast a longer shadow. Every whispered "forever" fed another ghost sleeping beneath my ribs. The thought of love is a clever liar. It builds cathedrals from broken mirrors, then asks us to kneel before our own reflections, calling the illusion destiny. How eagerly we obey. We water flowers that grow from graves, write poems to people who never truly existed, and embrace memories still unborn. Love watches. Silent. Patient. Like a spider waiting in the center of a web woven from hope. It never forces us inside. It simply lets us believe the silver threads are rays of morning light. By the time we understand, the sky has forgotten our ...
This world is crowded with borrowed souls,
Faces that promise, hearts that pretend,
You keep mending invisible holes
For damage you never did intend.
You carry guilt that was never yours,
Repairing cracks you didn’t make,
While those who benefit from your wars
Smile softly as they take and take.
Do not give your heart without a gate,
Nor pour your soul where care is thin,
Some see kindness not as fate,
But as a weakness to step in.
In a cruel world, goodness bleeds fast,
Mercy is mocked, loyalty drained,
Not every bond is meant to last,
Not every tear should be sustained.
Release your loyalty from those
Who never ask how you survive,
Turn quietly toward those who chose
To never check if you’re alive.
Move forward; leave the weight behind,
Choose peace, not endless sacrifice,
Protect your heart, reclaim your mind,
And happiness will be your prize.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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