I wish that I was braver – a little less shy. But genies are a thing of make believe, so this wish remains inside

Of my mind

It is false like the sheep herder who calls,
Out about a ferocious beast who feeds on his sheep,
Even if there was no ferocious beast at all.

But at least he cried wolf, at least he cried out.

While I sit here in silence with the worst case of cotton mouth.

I've been struck by a drought, Words dry up faster than my ability to speak.

My tongue has been barren for days, no sound, genies are a thing of make believe.

I fear what might happen, meaning I embrace deciding not to take action. But when it comes to hoping, all of my thinking is wishful. 

So if a genie were to be reading this, may he grant my three wishes in the form of spoken word delivered from my lips to her ears:


You're really Cute.