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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 Jester of My Ruins #poetryaddict #poetrydaily #sadpoetry

 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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