Preface, a piece I never finished and after so many years, have no intention of doing so.

 

Why can’t I be my own puppeteer?

Moving all the strings on my own

Because I’m simply a marionette

And to you, my body’s on loan.

 

The strings,

The claws

Because of them

I can’t just do

What

I want

They tug at all my limbs

And they just

pull

my arms

Not like I have say

In this tragic situation

 

Why can’t I just decide what I want?

Is my mind not good enough for that?

 

Am I dumb,

Am I daft,

Am I not worth all that?

 

Oh my dear, Puppeteer

Why can’t you see the truth,

Of what the strings do to me?

 

They cut and they burn

My skin’s torn to shreds

Just come cut me loose

From this horrible fate

 

Why can’t I be my own puppeteer?

Moving all the strings on my own

Because I’m simply a marionette

And to you, my body’s on loan.

 

Oh my dear, Puppeteer

I ask you one thing

Yet no words leave your mouth

 

I ask

Why am I here?

Is it because of you,

My body is tugged and pulled on?

 

Torn by the strings

Hurt by their words

They fling such abuse

And it’s all aimed at me

 

Yet you stand there just silent

Moving my mouth

As I say these words,

That I hate.

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