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...
I was born for more,
not to shrink into corners of silence,
not to fade beneath the weight of ordinary days,
not to exist as something half-lit,
In a world asking for brilliance.
There is something in me
that refuses to settle,
something restless and awake
even when I try to rest.
I was born for more
than quiet hesitation,
more than doubting my own hands
as if they were not built
to create, to shape, to move.
Inside me lives a voice
that does not whisper smallness,
It calls for expansion,
for color,
for meaning that spills beyond me
into everything I touch.
I was born for more
than watching life pass by
like a distant window I never open.
I was meant to open it,
to step through it,
to let the world feel my presence
without apology.
There is skill in me,
not waiting to be discovered,
but waiting to be unleashed.
Like rivers held too long in stone,
like fire kept too long in still air.
I was born for creation,
for shaping what did not exist before me,
for turning thoughts into form,
and silence into expression
that breathes on its own.
And when I give,
it is not empty giving.
It is overflowing.
It is a part of me
that understands I was never meant
to keep everything inside.
I was born for more
than myself alone.
I was born to lift others
without losing my own light,
to remind them
that something greater
also lives within them.
There is a purpose in me
that does not sleep,
even when I doubt it,
even when the world feels heavy
and unfamiliar.
It waits patiently
beneath every hesitation,
beneath every fear
that tries to make me smaller
than I was created to be.
But I was not born for smallness.
I was born for impact,
quiet or loud,
seen or unseen,
But always real.
And even when I forget,
even when I drift,
something in me remembers:
I was born for more
than surviving days.
I was born to shape them.
I was born to create,
to inspire,
to rise,
and to remind the world
That light does not ask permission
before it shines.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
Comments