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...
Why are you laughing?
Did my falling
look beautiful from where you stood?
Did the sound of my plans breaking
make a pleasant little song
inside your perfect afternoon?
I watched you smile
while my world tripped over its own feet.
You laughed
as if disaster were a comedy
written especially for you.
Perhaps you thought
my tears were part of the entertainment.
Perhaps you believed
misfortune only visits people
who deserve it.
How strange.
The rain fell through my roof
and you laughed beneath yours.
My cup broke in my hand
and you laughed
because you were holding a glass.
My road disappeared
and you stood beside the map
pretending you had drawn it yourself.
You pointed at my mistakes
with such confidence.
One finger.
Then another.
Soon your whole hand
was conducting an orchestra
of my failures.
You spoke as if you had never stumbled.
As if your feet
had signed a contract with gravity.
As if your life
had never misplaced a single key.
As if every decision you made
had been approved
by the gods of common sense.
Tell me,
where did you buy
this magnificent perfection?
Was it sold in bottles?
Did you drink it every morning
before judging everyone else?
Did the mirror whisper,
“You are different.
You are exempt.
You are the only human
who will never become
the person you criticize”?
Perhaps.
Because you looked so certain.
So clean.
So untouched.
Yet I wondered
what you kept behind your curtains.
Every house has a room
nobody shows visitors.
Every smile has a basement.
Every confident voice
has whispered into a pillow
at least once.
But you stood there
wearing your judgment
like a white suit
in a muddy world.
And I,
I stood there
wearing my mistakes.
They were heavy.
They had pockets.
I carried them everywhere.
One mistake contained
a conversation I wish I could erase.
Another contained
a person I trusted too much.
Another contained
a door I should never have opened.
Another contained
a dream that died
without even saying goodbye.
You laughed at all of them.
I almost laughed too.
Not because it was funny.
Because there was something absurd
about a human being
judging another human being
for being human.
Look at us.
Millions of fragile creatures
walking around
inside temporary bodies,
pretending we know
what we're doing.
We wake up.
We make mistakes.
We hurt people.
We get hurt.
We apologize.
Sometimes we don't.
We lose money.
Lose love.
Lose direction.
Lose ourselves.
Then we go online
and give strangers advice
as if we personally invented wisdom.
How wonderfully ridiculous.
You called me foolish
because I trusted the wrong person.
But once,
you trusted someone
who knew exactly how to hurt you.
You called me weak
because I cried.
But somewhere in your house
there is a towel
that remembers your tears.
You called me a failure
because I fell.
But gravity
has embarrassed you too.
You called my dream impossible.
Perhaps you forgot
how many impossible things
you once wanted.
The moon was once impossible.
Flying was impossible.
Talking across oceans
was impossible.
And yet here we are,
sending our loneliness
through invisible machines
to people on the other side
of the planet.
Still convinced
we understand reality.
One night,
I dreamed the world
was a courtroom.
The judge was a mirror.
The jury was made
of everyone's old mistakes.
The lawyers were children
who had not yet learned
how to lie.
And the accused,
every person
who had ever lived.
You stood first.
You pointed at me.
“She failed.”
The mirror looked at you.
“Have you never failed?”
You hesitated.
The courtroom grew quiet.
You pointed again.
“She made terrible choices.”
The mirror asked,
“Have you never made one?”
Your hands began shaking.
You opened your mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then the mirror turned toward me.
“And you?”
I looked down.
“Yes.
I have.”
The mirror smiled.
Not cruelly.
Almost kindly.
“Then perhaps,” it said,
“you are both qualified
to be human.”
The courtroom disappeared.
I woke up laughing.
Not because my life had suddenly become easy.
It hadn't.
The bills were still waiting.
The disappointments were still breathing.
Some people still carried
my name in their mouths
like a stone they enjoyed throwing.
But something had changed.
I no longer needed
to prove that I was perfect.
I only needed
to be honest about my scars.
So laugh if you must.
Laugh when I stumble.
Laugh when my plans collapse.
Laugh when I choose badly.
Laugh when I rebuild
with shaking hands.
But remember,
life has a strange sense of humour.
Today you may be watching me fall.
Tomorrow,
you may discover
that the ground
has your name on it too.
And when you fall,
perhaps someone will laugh.
Perhaps someone will point.
Perhaps someone will stand above you
wearing the same proud expression
you once wore above me.
And maybe then
you will finally understand:
The distance between
the person judging
and the person being judged
is only one unexpected morning.
One phone call.
One diagnosis of circumstance.
One betrayal.
One accident.
One goodbye.
One door closing
at the wrong time.
One ordinary day
deciding to become extraordinary.
We are all walking
on floors we did not build.
We are all carrying
stories nobody can see.
We are all one bad chapter
away from becoming
the person we once criticized.
So before you laugh,
look carefully.
That broken person
you find so entertaining
might simply be
the future version of you
waiting in the hallway
of time.
And before you judge,
look at your hands.
They are not clean.
Mine aren't either.
Good.
Perhaps that means
we can finally sit together,
without pretending
to be angels,
and laugh,
not at someone's pain,
but at the magnificent absurdity
of being human.
Because none of us
came here perfect.
We came here unfinished.
Confused.
Fragile.
Brave.
Ridiculous.
Carrying invisible luggage
through a world
that keeps changing the signs.
And maybe that is why
we should be gentler.
Not because everyone is good.
Not because every mistake deserves applause.
But because behind every mistake
there is usually a human being
trying to find their way
through a maze
while everyone else
is pretending
they have already found
the exit.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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