The winds that meant to break her
Will one day be her strength.
The hands that meant to crumple her
now shriveled by her very touch.
The darkness that meant to engulf her
Now sliced apart by her being
For too long she hid in the corners
afraid of the storm
living timidly, a everyday norm.
When fear reaches its epitome
and suffering is a daily chore
one day you can’t stand it no more
you decide to find another way
the horrors, the wounds, the war
come what may.
So she decided to burn
burn away all her troubles
burn the very essence of her fear
burn away every emotion, every weak tear.
She didn’t have much of a choice
So she burns everyday
once, twice, thrice.
Copyright © Sneha P [Rights Reserved]