There is a place inside you No map has ever traced, a quiet room behind the ribs where light forgets to stay. No one sees it when you smile, No one hears it when you speak. It moves beneath your laughter like a river running deep. It is yours alone to carry, not carved for other hands, a language made of silence Only your soul understands. Some mornings it is heavier, a stone you cannot name, And still you rise and wear your life as if it were the same. But pain, it does not leave you when ignored or pushed away, it waits within the folds of time, it learns you day by day. It is not your enemy, though it cuts without a sound; it is the truth you buried but still lives underground. And yes, there are nights it breaks you, when endurance feels too wide, when even breath feels borrowed And there is nowhere left to hide. Yet somehow you continue, not because you do not fall, but because within the breaking You still answer life’s call. You learn to walk beside it, not beneath it, not above...
Lower your voice We are not your mates. This is not your house, and your echo does not own the walls. Your pride towers beyond measure, standing where humility never learned to breathe. You wear power like a weapon, swinging it in every room you enter, mistaking fear for respect. Your pride is loud, loud like violence not always striking, but always threatening. It bruises the air, forces silence to bow. Power has fooled you, convinced you that command is character, That volume is authority, that dominance is destiny. Do not teach us that the world is brutal because you choose to be. Cruelty is not nature; It is a decision you make daily. Lower your voice. Strength does not shout. True power stands still, and needs no one to kneel. © 2026 Gloria Penelope