Veiled behind the curtain’s glow,
Puppeteer, you run the show,
Make me dance now, make me sing,
Oh Puppeteer, are you my king?
You think you know what I deserve,
You make me dance, you make me swerve,
But Puppeteer, could you be king,
If I strung you upon a string?
I’d make you jump across the floor,
I’d run you till your feet were sore,
And then I’d hang you on a shelf,
Left alone, with you, yourself.
You’d wonder when I would return,
Your heart would fill with odd concern,
For why should you care about me,
The soul who’ll never set you free?
I’ve left you broken, forced awake,
While in my absence I still take,
Stuck inside this endless dream,
Stripping you of self-esteem.
Yet still you’ll cry when I appear,
Not from sorrow, or from fear,
Misguided, you will seek my hand,
For without me you cannot stand.
So here we go, back to the show,
The audience will never know,
Oh Puppeteer, Oh Puppeteer,
One day it will be me you fear.
—kayla walker
Flommist Kayla Walker is just a simple poet who is fascinated by rhyme, using it as a voice to speak for the girl lost in her own mind. Copyright © 2016 Kayla Walker. Image source: kelly Rakowski/Nothing is New blog: Marionettes by W.A. Dwiggins, from the Rare Books Department of the Boston Public Library.
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