You laugh at them. You point your finger and call them a fool. Their silence amuses you, their gentleness becomes your joke, and the crowd joins your laughter as if kindness were weakness. It feels enjoyable today, sweet on your tongue like careless victory. Their patience becomes your stage, their humility your entertainment. But time is a quiet witness. It watches without speaking, It writes its lessons slowly in the turning pages of life. A day will come When laughter turns into tears. The echoes of your mockery will return to your own ears like thunder across an empty sky. Situations will arise without warning, storms without hands to beat you Yet heavy enough to break your pride. Pain will arrive quietly, And you will feel the trembling of a heart that once laughed too loudly. And that fool, that funny person you once mocked, may stand in the distance, not laughing, but witnessing your tears, your shaking voice, Your falling ego. For life has a patient way of bending the tallest p...
I laugh—
not because joy visits me,
but because silence would expose
the ruins I carry inside.
This laughter is crooked, rehearsed,
stitched from fragments of survival,
a sound born where the heart collapsed
And pretense was crowned the only remedy.
Why must life be sculpted this cruel—
where honesty bleeds too openly,
and smiling becomes the final language
spoken by the broken?
I laugh while my soul fractures quietly,
while memories sharpen their knives,
while trust rots into betrayal
And enemies gather wearing familiar skin.
Here, treachery and kinship share a table,
toasting with the same poisoned cup,
and I drink—smiling—
because resistance only deepens the wound.
This smile is not peace,
It is a ceasefire with pain,
a fragile treaty signed by a bleeding heart
that cannot afford another war.
So I laugh—
loud enough to fool the world,
soft enough to not wake the grief,
and broken enough to remind me
that this, too, is life.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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