I feel like a caged bird.
Waiting to be set free.
I wait to spread my wings and fly away.
I wait for the one I call mine.
How long must I wait for my great escape.
My lonely heart aches for my one and only.
I wish to be whisked away from my prison.
Longing to be creative.
With a world, I imagine.
So great to write as a series.
As time goes on.
The more I struggle to make dreams reality.
Will I ever become the greatest writer I want to be?
Answer me this.... why do I lay and wait for my chance to come when I could just take action and begin?
