Wingless Bird

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So is it impossible?
To be what I'm not
Or escape the identity the heavens gave
Its not that I'm lost
Just inspecting my sides.

Laughter and tears altogether
when the cocktail is a mix
A mix worthy of a blissful purge.
I'm a lamp with oily wicks
And a shadow of many doubts.

A walking contradiction?
Seems so.
I've never ridden the cirrus clouds
But I remain a bird
Without what makes one.

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