I wish that I was braver – a little less shy. But genies are a thing of make believe, so this wish remains inside
Of my mind
It is false like the sheep herder who calls,
Out about a ferocious beast who feeds on his sheep,
Even if there was no ferocious beast at all.
But at least he cried wolf, at least he cried out.
While I sit here in silence with the worst case of cotton mouth.
I've been struck by a drought, Words dry up faster than my ability to speak.
My tongue has been barren for days, no sound, genies are a thing of make believe.
I fear what might happen, meaning I embrace deciding not to take action. But when it comes to hoping, all of my thinking is wishful.
So if a genie were to be reading this, may he grant my three wishes in the form of spoken word delivered from my lips to her ears:
You're really Cute.
First post. Hi everyone.
