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 know you are weary
Weary of being cast as the sacrifice
in every unfolding loss,
Weary of tending wounds
Your hands never shaped.
Your heart lies splintered,
a vessel cracked by borrowed pain,
Yet even in its ruin
It continues to beat, defiant and true.
Understand this truth:
You carry no guilt in this suffering.
You were not the error,
only the soul misplaced
among those who mistook your gentleness
for something they could bruise.
Healing is not surrender.
It is the slow remembering of who you are,
a sacred return through silence and time.
Each scar is a scripture
testifying that you endured
what would have undone others.
Remain.
This chapter, heavy with shadows,
is not the whole of your story.
The ache will loosen,
the darkness will thin,
and the pain that names you now
will one day fail to recognize you.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
Comments