Bird, your cage's door is open. Are you stupid?
Won't you leave? You needn't train your gaze
On me. My mother's gone. I shouldn't linger
At this table, dutiful and dead of spirit, not
Exactly who I was when I was young, but
Also not the one I am. The door is open.
We should fly, but look at us. Our wings
Are clipped and we prefer the cage.
Comments about this poem (Stupid by Lawrence Beck )
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