Wobbly at first, knees bruised with dreams,
Training wheels and a trembling heart,
She carried on with cheers and support from her father.

She fell.

…And got up again.
She studied harder than before.
But her fire was tamed — to fit into their world.

Love came — sweet and silly.
Butterflies and late-night texts.
Then heartbreak,
Where no one asked why she hurt —
only what she did wrong.

She kept riding —
Into boardrooms and deadlines.

Career —
Not a ladder, but a minefield.
“Too emotional,” they said.
“Too ambitious,” they whispered.

She forgot her mother’s hands,
calloused from carrying her dreams.
She didn’t always say thank you.
Not until she became her.

She offered help —
And they said,
“She’s too involved.”
“She’s desperate.”
“She’s just… too much.”

Her face, bright as morning,
Was called arrogance by the insecure.
Her silence — indifference.
Her beauty — a mask, they said.

Still she rides.
Her bicycle weathered —
but she kept her hands steady.