When your gaze found mine, the whole world swayed, As if the earth had missed a hidden beat; The sunlight suddenly grew unafraid, Then melted like warm gold around my feet. I tried to look away, but something stayed, A trembling little universe in you; My eyes became two doors I could not close, And every secret seemed to wander through. I felt my cheeks turn roses in the rain, A sudden fire underneath my skin; The stars began to whisper my sweet shame, While little suns kept blooming from within. Your eyes were not just eyes, they were a place, A strange blue room where gravity was gone; I wandered through the silence of your gaze And somehow lost the person I was on. My heartbeat stumbled, then forgot its name, It ran barefoot through corridors of light; I blushed as though the moon had called me beautiful, Then hid my face from heaven's watching sight. The trees leaned closer, jealous of the view, The flowers opened wider just to see; Even the wind became unusually shy, As thoug...
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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