The Puppet

I am the object held by strings and rods.

The puppet led by its master.

You dance and I dance,

You sing and I sing,

A puppet on a string is all I am.

You tell me what to say, what to believe

and I spit it back at you

like a broken machine.

I am burnished and glossed

Made to shine when needed

And then put on a shelf to ashen.

But no puppeteer could ever take the love from my heart.

So as I cut the strings of the puppet master

I will make my own steps, follow my own path.

And make my own future.