With clipped wings I walk this earth,
Though to the world it appears I live in the house of mirth.
Inside I am unsteady, unsure of my course,
Having strength can be such a lonely force.
At times in my solitude I feel I could fly,
At times in my loneliness I want only to die.
How shocked they would be to know what exists inside,
How lost I would be if behind this smile I could not hide.
Or would life then reveal its meaning?
If I did not shine falsely, ever gleaming?
Is it my strength that keeps me alive?
Or is it my sorrow that my strength does contrive?
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