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The Puppet She smiles with calculation and forces a bright giggle for the delight of those who named her. Not knowing how to cry out loud, she covers her silent tears with make-up and lives the life of being their creation. Brutal rumors follow her walk. She holds her head high above the snickers and averts her vision from pointing fingers. She is past fantacizing about infatuation, knowing that her attached strings weave into knots that will strangle her heart. As they smile smugly and tug at her, she goes along with the game. Stuck in the self-destructive continuum, she sacrifices her youth for their desires. The short rush of attention that she feels is a high that she has paid for. Biting her painted lips, she pretends that they are more than an audience watching a tarnished innocent perform. She does her job and bobs for apples in braids. They watch her as she slowly removes her clothing. She cannot remember when it turned into this. The need for being wanted and cared for changed into something beyond her control. She has become the puppet they play with, dancing and twirling in their wind. Silently, her conscious mind cries to her. But she cannot hear, being deafened by the gales of the wind. The strength of her strings will weaken and snap under the storms fury. Then... she will fall. A puppet without strings cannot perform. That is when they begin to live. |
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