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 ...
I know you hate me
I feel it when you are around me,
in the weight of your stare.
But stop,
before hatred thins you out
until there is nothing left but rage.
I know you planned evil against me,
quiet thoughts sharpened in the dark.
Stop it.
I did nothing wrong to you.
I do not eat from your table,
I do not sleep beneath your roof.
My life does not steal from yours,
my breath does not lessen your days.
So let the anger rest.
Release the fire you keep feeding.
Let me walk my path in peace,
Let me stand under the same sky.
Allow me this small mercy
to breathe God’s air freely,
without fear,
without your rage chasing my shadow.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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