Why the caged bird sings

I am a prisoner to myself. I wallow inside, in my apartment, because I have no options outside of it. I occupy my time staring out windows, wondering how things would've turned out if different choices had been made. I think of people to call, conversations to have, but never pick up the phone. I pace the hallway, dust the furniture, and convince myself that this is a passing phase. I wonder why I am alone -- if my being single is somehow a judgement of who I am. I daydream of angels and have nightmares of devils.

It is as if I am a bird, staring at the open door to my cage, and though I am slowly dying inside the metal bars, I am afraid to venture beyond them.

"I know why the caged bird sings" by Maya Angelou

... But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings with fearful trill

of things unknown but longed for still ...

for the caged bird sings of freedom.

Image from bare/not project (http://barenot.wordpress.com/page/4/).