I am a puppet on five strings.
I am held up by you, each delicate handmade string that you have crafted together.
If I get a voice I ask you, 'what did I do?', 'I am sorry.'
Your words carry my motions for it is you that I wish to please.
I am held up on these strings because I want to be, because some part of me desires to be attached to you.
The strings are thread through your hands and you have no choice.
The needle that once threaded these strings through threatens to rise from the surface from time to time and in the meantime,
the scars on your hands attached to the strings that created my motions are your story. Your thoughts carried away, into a life that is so delicately crafted by you.
You have not always had a choice.
The pain that has announced a hold over your life was never your choice.
For if you had a choice, would you choose this?
The fight and desperation you follow in the chase for your life back.
You are waiting.
I am waiting.
The desperation grows.
I too am announced.
I never chose it either.
I follow the fight and desperation with you, to try and chase my own life back whilst I am still attached to you.
The strings are on each significant body part, and the scars follow too. Just like yours.
My two legs, my two hands, my head.
The other body parts are insignificant.
But, it burns.
If you ignited me in attempt to destroy me I would feel no different.
I am invisible to you even though I am right in front of you.
I just want you to hold me.
Cut the strings and hold me around those insignificant body parts.
But if you cut them will it kill you?
Will you bleed out?
Will I bleed out too?
Will I become lifeless without your words to carry my motions?
For, I am held up on these strings and attached to you.
The strings are thread through your hands.
The needle that once threaded these strings is rising from the surface.
The scars on your hands attached to the strings that created my motions are your story that you may never have anyone to tell. Does that make them a fairy-tale? Or a nightmare?
Your thoughts carried away, into a life that was once so delicately crafted by you.
I do not feel any different.
I get caught up in a gust of wind, and I float away into the world.
You are already there, but as a whole.
We both didn't have a choice.
The five strings are my life, held captive by you.
Yours words that turn into my words.
Your motions that turn into my motions.
My love, that turns into your love.
Your delicate craftsmanship, that turns into my being.
Our belonging together.
My life, that turns into your life.
A puppet on five strings.
But it is not a show, a story, a fairy-tale or a nightmare to be told.
It is you.
It is me.
It is us.
Copyright (c) by Kathryn Jenkins.
All rights reserved.
Thank you for reading! Please comment, any feedback including constructive criticism is always welcome!