The caged bird

I find myself trapped in another deluge. My mind wanders endlessly and I can’t find the words to fly.

My mind controls my thoughts, my entire being. And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being the good girl, the girl who follows the rules. Where were the days this good girl found herself in the middle of the floor, covered in paint.

She was her own paint pallet.

This girl used to have wings but she clipped them off herself, thinking they would destroy her.

But she destroyed herself.

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