The mountain never bowed to applause, Nor did the river pause for tears. The sky has carried a thousand storms Without remembering a single face. You are a traveler, not the road. A heartbeat, not the clock. The world was already speaking Long before it learned your name. Some goodbyes bloom from seasons, Not from mistakes. Some distances are drawn by time, Not by the hands that reach across them. Don't make yourself the author Of every unfinished sentence. Some pages are left blank Because silence belongs there. There is a strange mercy In not standing at the center Of every ending, Of every change. The sun does not rise to prove a point. The stars do not dim to send a message. Life simply unfolds, Wild, indifferent, beautiful. So carry your kindness, Leave your footprints lightly, And when the world turns without asking, Smile. It's not about you. That's how it is. © 2026 Gloria Penelope
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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