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...
He loved her in the way stories begin,
soft and convincing.
His words were sweet, like a sugarcane—
freshly cut, dripping sweetness,
impossible to doubt.
From his eyes to hers
fell a look so charming,
so carefully meant,
It felt like the truth had learned her name.
He poured his lies gently,
slow as red wine into a waiting cup—
smooth, rich, intoxicating.
She drank, believing warmth was love,
and belief made her dizzy,
made her stay.
But wine fades.
Morning comes without mercy.
Life, unfair in its honesty,
teaches harsh lessons softly at first.
Women are fooled daily, they say—
not because they are weak,
but because they hope,
because they trust sweetness
before they taste the burn.
And still, she stands,
sober now,
wiser than the lie,
carrying strength where love once sat.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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