What kind of writer am I
when I cannot even find the words
They slip past me, like feathers in the wind
feathers like paper, with the words I need to say
Maybe I'm not even human
Maybe I am a bird.

Perched inside, locked away
I am a bird in a cage

It is like this.
This is what I need to say.
I am a bird,
caged away
In a tree that reaches the clouds
So that I can see the free ones fly

With wings strong enough
to break their hold

When will my wings
be ready?