Scribbling small words
On post its
Is about the only chance I get these days
Days I spend, more often than not,
Thinking inside boxes
Reluctant to compare myself
To a caged bird who has stilled in the face of imprisonment, a bird who, for so long, chirped and rallied and screeched to her feathered friends preaching rebellion at her caged counterparts, insisting on insurrection. Now stifled and silent staring through steel stanchions.
Something that has resorted to stale metaphors and cheap alliteration. Something with clipped wings, hobbled, perched, unmoved.