Oh, yes,
I appear joyful sometimes.
The truth is, I'm not happy.
I'm dying inside.
I'm crying within.
Everything I do goes wrong.
Poverty defeats all my plans.
I feel like a cursed person.
I feel heavy.
I feel like I need to offload something.
My shoulders are heavy.
My backbone sings a different tune.
Sharp pains are running straight to my heart.
Will I ever survive this?
I smell brightness through the darkness.
I smell success from those cars passing by.
I smell wonderful meals from the restaurants.
I wish I could afford it.
I wish I knew my fate.
I wish I could change my destiny.
My last hope is in God's hands.
About the Creator
Gloria Penelope
Every creative piece is just me, telling a story. Enjoy!
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The Ground does not deserve you
There are places you return to out of habit, not belonging. Rooms that once held you because you didn’t yet know you had the right to leave. People who mistook your endurance for agreement, your silence for consent, your presence for loyalty. Coming back to the ground with clarity means seeing all of it without the old fog softening the edges. You stand in the doorway of your own life and realize that some of the ground you’ve been walking on was never meant to hold your weight.
By Elisa Wontorcik6 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
My last hope is in God's hands! Amen! Only in God we can still make it through. I love this Gloria!
My last hope is in God's hands.***