Controlling the doll by pulling her strings.
Anger, depression, confusion all being manipulated
by the creator.
Oh great puppet master,
can do no wrong.
Only the puppet can spoil the fun.
She wants to clip those strings of paramount.
Except she cares for that judgmental puppeteer.
For he is her architect, the one who gave her life.
So for him she will be slient,
and still.
Playing her role like all women should.
I felt like writing a poem to express my feelings. One day I might return to this and spruce it up, but I prefer my raw writings. It may not be well written, but it’s the essence that matters.
