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It's Not About You #poemaday #poetryaddict #poem

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
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The Heart Nobody Sees #sadpoetry

My heart has been bleeding for so long
it has learned how to hide the stain.

It dresses itself in ordinary smiles,
laughs when laughter is expected,
nods at conversations,
and walks through crowded streets
as if nothing inside is falling apart.

No one notices.

How could they?

The wound is hidden beneath practiced replies,
beneath "I'm okay,"
beneath the mask I wear so often
it sometimes feels more real than my face.

Inside, there are storms.

Quiet storms.

The kind that do not shatter windows
but slowly shake the foundations.

The kind that keep a person awake at night,
replaying old hurts,
counting regrets,
and wondering how someone can feel so lonely
while surrounded by people.

Fear sits beside me like a shadow.

Fear of being judged.
Fear of being misunderstood.
Fear of becoming a burden.
Fear of speaking the truth
and watching people look away.

So I remain silent.

A prisoner whose chains are invisible.

The world sees a functioning person.
A capable person.
A smiling person.

But it does not see the battlefields
hidden beneath my skin.

It does not hear the exhausted heart
begging for a moment of peace.

Yet somewhere inside the bleeding,
inside the fear,
inside the darkness that refuses to leave,

a small part of me still survives.

A quiet voice that whispers,
"Hold on."

Not because the pain is gone.

But because even wounded hearts
still carry hope.

And perhaps one day,
the heart nobody sees
will no longer need to hide.

It will step into the light,
scarred but breathing,
broken but healing,
afraid but finally free.

© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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