The String that...Saved Me?

A manipulator.

That’s what a marionette’s puppeteer is called.

A perfect name for whoever is pulling my strings,

Hidden behind the curtain of my life’s stage, unseen,

In this theatre disguised as my entire world,

I dance when she feels like dancing,

And if he has something better to do,

I lay limp on the floor, crying from the fall.

People come into and out of my life,

Pulling my strings and generally jerking me around.

Who are my friends but the sutradharas,

Wire-pullers, gods of my own little world?

Sometimes I feel it’s the only way we can interact.

Without them, what could I do but lie still on the ground?

I’m incapable of standing my own ground,

Making my own decisions…

I literally need you to move me.

How else could it be?

I once thought they were the strings that would save me,

But these cords that have strung me up,

These ties seem so natural I barely feel them anymore.

My will is indistinguishable frrom your own.

A pawn at your mercy,

I once had dreams of nodding my own head,

Moving my own feet,

Doing things on my own,

Being a real girl,

Pulled by sinew, not by string.

I once had dreams…

Or were they memories?