Puppet On A String

The camera lens may capture her beauty

Yet it remains her steadfast confidant

Never betraying the tears shed in secret.

The film depicts her stature as steady, strong, and true.

.

Never giving a glimpse into all the ways she’s been forced to bend.

Only showcasing the smile she wears

Yet it’s all for pretend.

A performance she must endure

From sunrise to sunset,

Morning til dusk.

Only able to be herself when the day comes to an end.

.

She feels like a poppet

Their puppet on a string.

Oh, how she longs to return to the days before it all began.

She uses her voice

Yet they don’t hear a thing.

There’s no way to defeat them

Nothing left to do.

.

She feels like a poppet.

Their puppet on a string.

Her days revolve around their schedules

She’s on a constant spin.

.

They care not for her input.

Nor veiled criticisms of their hurdles she must overcome.

Patience wearing thin.

She retreats further

Holding it all within.

How did she get here?

Was there a darkened rabbit hole she fell in?

.

There’s no knowing where the path begins.

All she knows for certain,

All she holds inside

Is the pent-up fire she’s simmered while forced to remain at their side.

.

She may be their poppet

Their puppet on a string

But in the coming days, she’ll unleash it all like a fiery monsoon.

Severing the strings.

Drowning them in flaming springs.

.

Their demands will no longer be obeyed.

Their hoops no longer jumped through.

By the end, there will be nothing more they can do

Their creation and their mission

It will all be through.

.

Dismantled and defunct,

Exposed and uncovered,

It’ll be the ultimate coup.

Now she’s no longer their poppet.

Nor their puppet on a string.

. . .

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This poem was originally published on Medium: