puppet boy

Sat, 07/08/2017 - 07:00 -- dxrciee

Puppet Boy 


strings lace my hands,

they hang above my head.

skin pale and bruised.

eyes practically dead.


i am their puppet boy.


my costume has been prepared.i swallow my fear and hide that im scared.my size 9 feet in size 4 shoes.my song begins to play, i hate that song.it's overused. i am their puppet boy.  my skin scarred from beatings,my mind scarred from words.silence is my first language.fluent in screams that no one heard. i am their puppet boy.  stage lights blind me.i know they smile even when i can't see.the strings are tuggedand im pulled upwards to face the crowdthey cheer and whistle so so loud. i am their puppet boy.  my show has now ended and now the beatings begin.i moved too slow or my legs looked too thin.i open my eyes and see my father grin. "you're my puppet boy."

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This is really good. It reminds me of a short poem I wrote.

Poor little boy, tied up in strings. She tells him where to walk, where to run, when to think. She likes to play puppet. She controls his life, his love, his dreams. I wonder when he'll be a real boy, free of strings.

Its an amazing contreversial topic to cover.


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