My Life As a Show, Every Single Day. My Make Believe Play Of Living Life My Way.

And then I think I decided
to be the captain of my fate…
The writer of my story
though I was late.
Stopped saying Yes when it was a No…
I held my strings tight,
It Felt so right.
Being the puppeteer of my life!

My life as a show, every single day
The puppeteer as well as the puppet
The controller and the controlled to boot
My make-believe play of living life my way.

Doll me up
but do not treat me as a doll.
I breathe, move, sway and dance,
but all of my own, for myself.
Un-puppet me from your thoughts,
because I may be dolled up,
but I am a girl, not a puppet doll.

With strings stitched to my wrists
I’m his Barbie doll,
his marinated mannequin
He plays with my flesh
He carves out my skin
I’m my puppeteer’s desires,
his slaved mannequin.
Knitted to a Marionette,
tied to my Master’s nails
I’m sewed from soul to sheen
I’m, my Puppeteer’s Mannequin.

Life hurts sometimes
yet I’m proud
that I hold myself together,
I pull my strings up
even when I’m down.
I’m the master of my fate,
A puppet of my own hands.
I’m a paradox in myself.

How naive I have been all these years
by giving the strings in someone else’s hands,
when it should have been me?. Never again,
I am going to dance to my own rhythm
and discover the colors of my prism!

She had her fear,
that broke her.
She held back the tear,
that shook her.
But little did she know
that she was nothing
but a little puppet
with tangled strings
tied to her own fingers.
She was imprisoned
in her own world.

My life as a marionette
Can’t cut those strings yet
Need purpose in life
To stop all the strife
I will not continue this road I am on
Pulling these strings until turmoil is gone
When peace is achieved
I as the puppeteer will be relieved

The puppetry that goes on,
on my womanhood,
is not new, is as old as time,
I shed silent tears,
my hands tied,
with invisible strings,
I have forgotten what my life should be,
I live, perform and die according
to the whims of the society.