Some days I just want to break free of this half-life I reside in. Actually live. A life of spontaneity and excitement and some g****** adventure far away from the cage crafted of my own bones. Chains forged from slivers of my spirit attached seamlessly to the leaden weight of an empty heart. “THE GIRL WHO DID NOTHING” on a sign written in blood, passerby peaking inside, tarnishing eyes surveying the freak of a girl. It has often been said that “good girls are bad girls who haven’t been caught”, but what if the good girls are those who have been thrown in a box of expectations that the key was lost to? Surrounded of posters of aspirations and dreams and images of her that are not her own? What if the good girl was prepared to forget the chained life she lived if it meant being free, forgetting all aspirations and goals and dreams if the key was found? Forget her unbearable fear of failure to accept the life of those who are happier to not care, but the cage of bones, welded with creativity and broken ideas, is too difficult to break. The cage of her skull is not one she could simply shatter because who would pick up the pieces? How could she pick up the pieces all on her own, with a new found freedom but a new found isolation? The girl continues to reside in the cage, her bare feet smeared with blood and tears, her fingers tipped by ink and pencil lead, and her mind absorbed in the words she thought were her own.