Birds.

I wouldn't say I like it here. Even wishing I could escape is a common thought for me. Birds can fly away if they have a problem with their circumstances; why am I not a bird? Why must I tread instead of soar? Like it is as if I have anchors clasping down my feet, every step, I cry in anguish, for I cannot detect the air of hope, nor the light of happiness. Why must the birds be so selfish? I am sure that I would carry those who can't fly upon my back if I could. Is it they are too scared we will weigh them down? That we would dig our fingers too far into their backs? Is it that they know we will rip wings away so we can fly on our own? Do they know that we are takers? We took the earth and said it is ours because we have feet, so we deserve it because we have hands, so we deserve it. But why? We were last; it isn't fair. The birds were here first, and they are selfless to the earth and its children. And am selfish because I want their wings. To be entirely honest, I wouldn't say I like it here.