Confusion

It's spread into every aspect of my life.

Creativity,
Love,
Lies,
Music,
School,
Sleep,
Work.

Should I eat this?
Dare I speak?
Shall I live indulged with hate?

One more year until my freedom,
But one more year I spend confused.

I know why the caged bird sings, Maya Angelou.
It sings of longing, of crippled wings,
Of sorrow, of submission,
Of never knowing,
Never seeing,
Always dreaming.

I know why this bird sings.
For suppressed creativity, for the love never received,
For the lies it was daily fed, for the thoughts going through its head.
There’s music running through its veins.
There’s better work for it to do.

But to this bird,
What is there to do?
What can it do...?