She woke up long back,
Fighting the very first light,
Rubbing her eyes,
Hiding under the quilt,
Avoiding the noise and light.
She had been young for long,
It was time for her to be strong.
She worked her way up,
Knowing not what was right or wrong
But she learned,
After all she was awake,
She had made big mistakes,
And getting over them was hard.
She strained against her own demons,
Welcoming the angels to take over.
She fought with all her might,
With those tears late night.
She wrestled with her own voice,
To silence the screaming words.
She battled the bitter truths,
And argued with the white lies,
Wasting her good days unaware of the spite.
The grudge she held against herself.
She was oblivious to the scars they gave,
They camouflaged in her life,
And she adapted to the only end.
Little did she know-it wasn’t the end at all,
Though she woke up long before,
Out from a nightmare she seemed to fall,
She did not want this anymore.
It was her ride, she drove,
She was the dreamer,
She would be the fantasy.
She would drive herself to the right end.
The end she would write on her own,
Because she now knew,
It was her story,
And the pen was in her hand.
-The Word Warrior