In a novel she chose to read, she buried her face,

While the night seemed to her longer than usual.

The words of Paulo she had made a trace,

Everything she dreamed of, incised into a long visual.

Her mind did remind her that it was all delusional,

But her heart refused to accept.

In terms of the reality that awaited her,

She made a rivalry between the deviant and casual.

Trying to decipher the fault in the concept,

That had kept her fazed and blur,

She disposed to revolt breaking the precept.





The rebel was against her thoughts,

All about things she wanted to forget.

Little or big, everything was tied in knots,

And most of it had only made her regret.

Someday she’d trounce and triumph she’d hoped,

Yet been told many times she would not.

After all the days she had moped,

She had finally won for what she fought.

Thoughts; all of what drained her joy out,

All of what in her mind went restively about,

No longer bothered her,

No longer marred the happiness in her life.

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