Shackled PuppetI got bored and decided to post some of my poetry to see what kind of response I get.
So sad was her life, that she could not control. Those chains were so painful, and got awfully cold.
Day after day, she did as he said. For her puppeteer, was the voice in her head.
He was her life, the reason she danced. But when he was done, she got no second glance.
A sorry existance, of this she was sure. If only these shackles would slip a bit more.
To this very day, she moves with his will. Although he controls her, she loves him so still.
Her wrists may be blistered, her ankles are sore. And yet she feels joy, when he walks through the door.
These two are connected, as close as can be. The master is you, while the puppet is me.
click for a quote from the poet
If this poem speaks to you and you feel like a puppet, grab the nearest pair of scissors and cut off those strings.
Did you like this poem? Write one of your own!