Lope's Thoughts

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 pers...

One mask, yet countless faces beneath its skin, each one learning how to begin again without ever truly starting. It smiles in borrowed sunlight, it bows in practiced grace, it learns the art of vanishing while standing in one place. A thousand eyes may pass it, a thousand hearts may guess, Yet none will see the fracture beneath its perfect dress. It speaks in many voices, each softer than the last, rewriting every present to survive what once was past. In morning light, it is gentle, by night it learns to hide, Becoming what is needed on whichever shifting tide. And still, within the silence, where no applause remains, The mask begins remembering the weight of unnamed pains. For every face it borrowed was never fully free, each one a fleeting version of what it feared to be. So it gathers all its fragments, all its selves in quiet trance, and wonders if it’s living or only learned to dance. Yet somewhere in the breaking, a truth begins to start: One mask cannot erase the multi...

I'm slowly fading, not all at once, not enough for the world to notice, just quietly, like a shadow losing its shape at the edge of dusk. My heart grows weaker With each passing day, beating not with purpose but with persistence, as if it, too, is unsure why it continue? There was a time it knew how to feel fully, how to rise without fear, How to carry light without trembling beneath it. Now it stutters, hesitates, like it’s learning how to exist inside a body that has forgotten how to live. And my soul… My soul has wandered. It no longer asks for direction, no longer waits for permission. It drifts where it pleases, pulled by something unseen, something darker than I ever meant to follow. A path unfolds beneath me, cold and endless, lit not by hope but by the faint glow of everything I’ve lost. And still, I walk it. Not because I want to, But because I no longer know How to turn back. I am slowly fading. I feel it in the silence that grows louder, in the emptiness that stretches w...

There is a version of me I buried without a name, no stone, no ceremony, just silence pressed into the ground with trembling hands. No one saw the funeral. It happened behind steady eyes, between breaths, I pretended to be calm, beneath a voice that said I’m fine until it almost sounded true. That version of me cried in places no one visits, in the pause before sleep, in the echo after laughter, in the spaces between words I never dared to say aloud. I wrapped them in quiet. Folded their pain into smaller shapes, tucked it neatly behind ribs where it could ache politely, where it wouldn’t disturb anyone. They had a softer heart, that one, too open, too willing to believe hands would stay Once they learned the weight of holding. They loved without armor. Trusted without maps. Broke without noise. And when the cracks grew louder than I could bear, I chose stillness over shattering. I chose to bury them before the world could finish the job. But sometimes, in the hush of an ordinar...

Laughter in cold rooms, Thin as frost along the windowpane, Slips out of trembling lips, Not meant, yet born, A tremor in the stillness, A tremble against the dark. Walls shiver with the memory of warmth, Curtains cling to shadows That stretch like old regrets. The air tastes of silence, of sighs, Yet a laugh erupts, A brittle flare, A spark unwilling to die. It is not joy, not the careless joy of youth, But a trembling echo, A defiance of grief that coils Around the chest like cold iron. It is laughter stolen From the teeth of despair, A brittle, unsteady bridge Between what was, And what cannot be. Yes, it should not be, No light should pierce such gloom, Yet here it is, Ringing hollow yet alive, Shivering across the floorboards Like wind through dead leaves. It mocks the stillness, Mocks the sorrow that waits patient and sharp, But also honors it, For even in the blackest folds of night, Even where hope seems impossible, Something insists on speaking, On remembering That life on...

So do I, Feel the fire clawing beneath my ribs, A wildfire that devours reason, And leaves only ash and echo in its wake. Anger rises like tidewater, relentless, Pulling me into currents I cannot name, Chilling and scorching at once. So do I, Hear the silent screams That no lips dare utter, The betrayal of trust dripping into my veins, A poison mingled with the blood of memory. My heart pulses, a frantic drum, Beating against a cage of brittle bones, Each rhythm a rebellion, Each thump a confession I cannot make it to anyone but myself. So do I, Tremble in the mirror of my own despair, Where reflections twist and fracture, Where shadows wear my face And mock the light I once knew. I reach for solace, But it slips through my fingers like smoke, And I grasp only fragments of myself, Sharp as shattered glass. So do I, Feel my soul rent into two rivers, One of flame, one of ice, Both cutting, both drowning me, Both calling my name in whispers That promise salvation Yet offer only torment. ...

I did not call it evil when it began, No, I named it order. A necessary sharpening of the world, A quiet correction Of all that trembled, all that hesitated. I stood where doubt once lived And buried it beneath polished thoughts. I said:  to hesitate is weakness, to feel is to fracture, to question is to lose. So I became certain. Terribly, beautifully certain. I carved my intentions into marble logic, Cold, unyielding, admired. Others saw a reflection, I saw only angles, Only outcomes bending to my will. And when the first voice cracked beneath my hand, I did not hear pain, I heard proof. Proof that I was right. I told myself the world required pruning, That softness was rot beneath the surface. So I cut, Quietly, precisely, without tremor. Every act dressed in reason, Every wound is explained in elegant language. I spoke like a philosopher While building like a tyrant. But no one calls a tyrant evil When he speaks beautifully enough. I learned that early. I learned that words cou...

Not the tender arc of a smile born of light, but that crooked, self-serving crescent you wear, a grin that feeds on silence, that drinks from the well of its own reflection, curved not by joy, but by a hunger unnamed. It rests upon your lips like a quiet conspiracy, a subtle betrayal of the soul’s softer language, where warmth once lingered but now retreats into corners unvisited, afraid of what it might awaken. Behind it all, behind it, a wilderness of thought, untamed and relentless, where reason falters, and shadows take root. There, your mind becomes a chamber of murmurs, echoing with fragments too jagged to speak aloud. They coil in silence, those thoughts, serpentine and patient, sliding between the folds of your conscience, whispering of things undone, yet aching to be done. Cruelty does not arrive with thunder. No, it approaches gently, knocking with delicate persistence upon the fragile doors of your restraint. Tap… tap… a rhythm so faint, it masquerades as curiosity. And you ...

You have struck a hidden fracture, a snag, not upon my being, no, not upon this unmoving ground, but within the labyrinth you so carefully architected, brick by fragile brick of cunning and conceit. Do not cast your gaze here. I am not the wall that faltered, nor the silence that yielded. I am the still axis, unmoved, unclaimed, beyond the reach of your unravelling designs. You are not worth the currency of my hours, not a second of breath to be bartered for the hollow theatre you rehearse, where gestures masquerade as power, and deception drapes itself in the garments of intellect. Your deeds, ah, those erratic constellations of intent, burn briefly across a sky of borrowed brilliance, only to fade into the abyss of their own contradiction. Each step you take circles a void, a choreography of misdirection mistaken for mastery. Your tactics, woven in dim-lit corridors of calculation, where whispers ferment into fragile strategies, collapse beneath the weight of their own pretence. For ...

A whisper was all it was, a passing thought, unpolished, unarmed, released like a feather into open air, weightless, harmless, never meant to wound. But ears are strange keepers of truth. They bend sound into sharper shapes, twist syllables into thorns, until a murmur becomes a verdict, and a breath becomes a blade. What was once a simple critique, a mirror held for a fleeting second, was dragged through the corridors of pride, stretched, distorted, dressed in the heavy robes of accusation. Voices gathered. Not to understand, But to echo, louder, harsher, until meaning drowned beneath noise. And suddenly, a name is no longer a name, but a stain passed from tongue to tongue, a shadow stitched from borrowed anger, a story no longer yours to tell. Words, once fragile and human, now march like soldiers of spite, armed with fragments of half-truths, piercing deeper than any silence could. How quickly a moment fractures,  How swiftly kindness is forgotten When outrage tastes sweeter...

Let go, for not everything that holds your hands, It is meant to hold your soul. Some grips are gentle prisons, soft enough to feel like love, yet heavy enough to keep you from becoming. If it is not good, If it slowly dims the light within you, If your laughter has learned to hide behind forced smiles and quiet endurance, then listen, Your spirit is already whispering what your heart is afraid to accept. Walk away from that toxic love. Not with anger, not with noise, but with the quiet strength of someone who has finally seen the truth. Do not look back. Not at the memories that once felt like forever, not at the promises that dissolved like mist in the morning. For looking back is how chains are reforged, How wounds are reopened just when they begin to close. Ask yourself, What if staying is costing you everything? What if every extra moment you remain is a delay In the life that is meant for you? What if your destiny stands ahead, watching, waiting, wondering why you have not yet ar...

It wasn’t real, that connection you held up like something rare. It was only your restless emptiness reaching outward, never inward where truth lived. There was something in you, a rare kind of wrongness, not loud, but steady, growing in the quiet corners You refused to clean. Your habits sank deep, roots of neglect and excuse, feeding on your comfort, tightening around any chance of becoming better. Inside your chest, something lingered, not wounded, but slowly rotting from everything you chose not to face. Your words carried weight, but not wisdom, dirty with judgment, falling on others as if they owed you effort You would never give yourself. You dreamed wildly, expected greatly, Yet moved nowhere. Laziness sat in you like spring, fresh, alive, growing stronger each day You chose not to change. And so you became a tree, Not shaped by storms, but by stillness. Not broken, but unused. A tree that stands alone, roots deep in wasted time, branches stretched with empty wants, leaves gree...

They named her their daughter-in-law. before she learned her own name. Marriage found her young, not as a choice, but as a destination already decided. Her hands were trained before her mind was asked. Sweep. Cook. Obey. Fetch water before sunrise, carry firewood before thought. This is the alphabet she was taught. Village dust settled into her thoughts, not because she lacked vision, but because no one let her look past the hills. Days repeat like commands— live, work, sleep, repeat— a body moving on borrowed instructions. She lives under rules that never asked her consent. Love is a duty. Silence is respect. Endurance is praised as strength. She moves like a machine that never learned it could choose its direction. The city is a rumor. Education, a foreign language. Opportunity, a story told to other women, in other words, with better luck at birth. And yet— this is the cruelest part— No one knows what she could have been. No one tested her mind. No one stretched her curiosity. No on...

Forgiveness won’t come easily no, It may never come at all. I lived a life ruled by hardships written in his handwriting, laws designed for his comfort, his benefit, His escape. I survived inside rules that never protected me. These scars were not accidents. They were carved by a careless heart, by disrespect dressed as love, by dishonesty that learned my face and lied to it daily. He fed me false truths over and over, as if my mind was empty, as if I could not feel the weight of being fooled, as if I was a child. I was expected to forget. To absolve. To soften the damage so he could sleep at night. But forgiveness lives far from my heart So far, it cannot hear my name. It will not walk toward me, not now, not with time, not with death. Even my grave will not open for it. This is not bitterness This is memory standing its ground. Forgiveness will not resurface. Some wounds do not ask to be healed. They ask to be remembered So the truth is never rewritten. © 2026 Gloria Penelope

I know you hate me I feel it when you are around me, in the weight of your stare. But stop, before hatred thins you out until there is nothing left but rage. I know you planned evil against me, quiet thoughts sharpened in the dark. Stop it. I did nothing wrong to you. I do not eat from your table, I do not sleep beneath your roof. My life does not steal from yours, my breath does not lessen your days. So let the anger rest. Release the fire you keep feeding. Let me walk my path in peace, Let me stand under the same sky. Allow me this small mercy to breathe God’s air freely, without fear, without your rage chasing my shadow. © 2026 Gloria Penelope

The forest stands dark and breathing, trees twisted like ancient thoughts, their shadows whispering warnings to every step that dares to enter. Eyes glow between tangled roots, animals move with silent command, claws, wings, and hidden breaths Obey laws older than fear itself. Rare plants rise from the damp earth, thorns guarding fragile beauty, poison and healing sharing one stem, Life balanced on divine precision. Thunderstorms rumble through the canopy, not spoken, yet deeply heard a power unseen but undeniable, holding every leaf in place. In this fearful, living cathedral, where danger and wonder entwine, God’s power unveils itself clearly: order within chaos, life within shadow, and purpose within the wild. © 2026 Gloria Penelope

Wanna win my heart? Find a proper way, Not rushed words or borrowed lines That fades by the break of day. Charm me—but with truth, With effort you don’t hide, Let actions speak when silence comes, Let consistency decide. If you say you love me, Let your heart be clean and sure, No games, no masks, no halfway vows, Only intentions are pure. My heart is not a prize to take, Nor something lightly won, So come with depth, or think once more— Or don’t begin at all. © 2025 Gloria Penelope

Time slips softly through our hands, Between the tasks we rush to do, Measured not by clocks or days, But how we live, and what we choose. It hides inside our daily plans, In hurried steps and shallow breath, We spend it as if it were endless, Unaware it walks with death. Tomorrow stands behind a veil, A mystery no soul can read, Destiny writes in hidden ink, Unseen paths our feet may lead. Life unfolds like whispered truth, One moment clear, the next unknown, A fragile flame that dances bright, Yet knows it’s never fully owned. For any day may be the last, Any night may close the door, Time does not ask for permission— It simply moves, then moves no more. So hold your moments gently now, Speak the love you mean to say, For life is brief, and time is shy, And mystery decides the day. © 2025 Gloria Penelope

Just when I thought I’d seen it all, Life whispered, wait—there’s more. Each dawn unfolded a hidden page, A truth I hadn’t read before. I walked once clothed in borrowed lies, A name bruised by slander’s breath, Blame like stones upon my back, Critics writing my living death. I stood alone in echoed doubt, My shadow heavy with their words, Yet time, that silent keeper of scales, Heard what justice never heard. For life’s great mystery turned its key, Slow, unseen, yet deeply kind, And washed my name in patient light, Leaving falsehoods far behind. Now I rise as living proof, A mirror polished by the storm, A testimony born of truth, From brokenness to fully formed. I am my story, clear and whole, No borrowed voice, no twisted view, Life unfolded—and in its grace, I finally met the real me, too. © 2025 Gloria Penelope

Each morning begins with a choice, A quiet promise, softly made. To nourish more than hunger’s noise, To honor the body we’re given to shape. Greens glow bright upon the plate, Fruits speak color into the day. Every bite is fuel, not fate, A step toward strength in a mindful way. Water clears the tired mind, Proteins mend what effort breaks. Balanced meals, patiently timed, Teach discipline, the soul partakes. Then muscles wake beneath the sun, Sweat writes truth upon the skin. Every rep whispers, Don’t give up , Every breath pulls courage in. The body learns a stronger song, Not rushed, not forced, but earned with care. Progress moves when habits belong To love, not punishment or despair. This is not war with flesh or form, But partnership, steady and kind. Health is shaped where will is warm, And discipline meets peace of mind. So eat with purpose, move with pride, Let patience sculpt what time allows. The strongest body stands beside A healthy heart that keeps its vows. 💪🥗...