The Mad Puppeteer

Raw Earth Ink

his fingers dancing, flicking
manipulating and twirling
the strings attached
to my cracked open heart

he made it look easy

his wrist barely moved and
I fell down at his feet
his thumb lifted and
I begged his forgiveness

I’m under his spell
this mad puppeteer of my soul

what he wishes, I perform
my own pen, attached to my heart
my heart, attached to his strings
his strings, attached to his whim

I am the doll, his very thoughts
written out and counted through
a filter shaped like me
a puppet, a mirror, a twisted shadow

that’s me

he drew up a fist and
I cowered scribbling furiously
his fingers trembled and
my pages filled with his words

in the end, I’m realizing
that the marionette who is me
is as much a part of him
as he is an extension of me

tara caribou | ©2021

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