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.
