I am a bird with clipped wings,
Caged and imprisoned in a monotonous pseudoreality.
So numb, I can no longer muster the will to sing.
I go through the motions because it's expected of me.
Every song merely a failed attempt to lift the spirits.
Exhausted with the effort it takes to exist.
Lyrics come out, but no one really hears it.
How does one fight when they don't even have fists?
Make the cage any beautiful color you like,
But it doesn't change the fact that I am trapped.
Slave to an unseen master, in constant fear of the strike.
Wander only so far or you'll get zapped.
I am a bird with clipped wings, yearning to be free.
Why, oh why can't they just let me be?
About the Creator
Dee Meinville
"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."- Mr. Knightley, Austen's Emma
Struggling med student, tortured soul (what poetess isn't), devoutly Catholic. I write to express what goes unsaid and to stand for the voiceless.
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