The Puppet is I

I am but a puppet on strings.

I wonder if I was but the mistake or the gift.

I see my mother’s long-lost hopes and dreams.

I hear her cries of madness and pain.

I want to give back all that she deserves,

but I am but a puppet on strings.

 

I pretend I am only trapped in an endless dream.

I feel dictated and controlled.

I touch the gates of heaven and hell.

I worry that I shall disappoint her and him.

I cry out my pain and wish for the day to end.

I am but a puppet on strings.

 

I understand life and appreciate that I am here.

I say my life has yet to truly begin.

I dream that one day I will find myself again.

I try to make her happy and proud.

I hope that he will stop trying to end it all.

I am but a puppet on strings.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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