p u p p e t

Dear Puppeteers,

I am taking my

mutha –

fuking

Strings back.

 

Your game are yours to play

My soul is not a toy

My body does not mean more than profit to you

And I kinda feel the bruises from the

Chain made of string

Becoming to much.

 

I’ve sang and danced

No one to blame but me

Now I am done and I am taking my strings with me.

 

Said the things scripted

Done the things expected

Bit my lip fighting my own intuitions

Then hiked back up and swung around at any moment of self doubt.

 

F u c k   y o u

Politely

With the same crossed control bar

Up, in, around any avenue you like.

 

But then again,

I did this to myself.

I forgot who I was for a little while

And that’s a scary thought.

I allowed myself to become

Straw,

Wax,

Wood,

Porcelain . . .

 

I won’t shatter here,

I won’t waste any more time.

Thank you very much!

I’ve done my time.

 

Silly little girl,

Cute little puppet,

You’d probably package me up and pass me as a doll to your little girl cousins.

 

But alas.

I’m done.