My own pen betrayed me.

I fought in anguish—

how could my hand deny me my destiny?

Hands shaking, headaches conniving,

my life flashed sharp before my eyes.

Is this what I will become?

Riches scrambled; I had no control.

Destiny turned haywire—

not at all what I wanted.

Written in my hand, yet foreign to me.

Then it struck me:

two inherited voices hovered over me.

Freedom caged, frustrations pent,

I knew just then—I had enough.

I broke my pen

and became my reality.

My pen died down, freedom rose.