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...
They call me crazy.
I laugh and tell them,
"Of course I am,
sanity packed its bags years ago
and left no forwarding address."
They laugh with me.
That is the trick.
If I make the joke first,
no one notices
the cracks beneath the punchline.
My mind is a carnival at midnight,
lights flickering,
music playing out of tune,
ghosts riding the Ferris wheel
of old memories.
Yet I smile.
Because laughter is cheaper than therapy
and easier than explaining
why some nights feel
heavier than mountains.
I joke about my misfortunes.
I shake hands with disaster.
I invite heartbreak
to sit beside me at the bar
and buy it a drink.
"What now?" I ask.
And heartbreak laughs,
because it knows
I will turn it into a story.
That is how I survive.
Not with courage.
Not with strength.
But with absurdity.
With ridiculous thoughts
that dance through the darkness
wearing oversized shoes.
The world expects tears.
I hand it a grin instead.
The world expects collapse.
I perform a comedy routine
on the edge of the cliff.
Yet beneath every laugh
is a trembling silence.
A fragile thread
holding together a thousand storms.
People hear the joke.
They rarely hear the echo.
The echo that asks
what would happen
if I stopped laughing.
If the clown removed his paint.
If the jester abandoned the stage.
If the humor finally surrendered
to the sadness it was hired to guard.
Perhaps that is the secret
of every "crazy" soul.
We are not laughing
because life is funny.
We are laughing
because the alternative
might break us.
So I crack another joke.
The crowd laughs.
The darkness waits.
And somewhere between madness
and melancholy,
between the grin
and the grief,
I continue my performance,
a fool balancing on a tightrope
woven from humor and heartbreak,
praying the laughter lasts
long enough
to carry me
to tomorrow.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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