The Marionette Dance

Strung by your words and dazzling smile. For the longest time, I was too occupied with your mesmerizing gaze to realize the movement of my mind was no longer of my own consent.

And now, I dance to a broken music box, and watch the world around me continue, as I am stuck in one moment, in your eyes, frozen to the spot, and dance with the strings you have tied to my arms and legs with your gentle whispers. I wish to be a part of the world again, and not pulled by a puppet master, this way and that. Controlled to the very core.

As I watch you tug the strings and laugh, I wonder if it is even possible to escape. But how could I? How could I be strong enough or smart enough? No, it's impossible with you standing there, wielding so much power over me.

But then you turn, distracted by something more interesting than me, better than me, and I can see the scissors on the table, close enough to reach. And as your grip loosens with your lack of attention, as you watch someone more challenging than I pass you, I cut the strings with conviction. Snip, snip, snip.

I fall to the ground, hard. Because you're not watching close enough to know that I'm leaving, so you don't try to catch me, so I'm in pain. So I hurt. To my very heart I hurt. Even once I'm free I'm hurt. And without your puppet master strings to support me, I find it hard to stand. But not impossible.

Because I must walk without you, and even as your prisoner you did not care enough, so now you care even less, and you mock me as I stumble away. But I must. I must learn to move to a new song, without strings. I must learn to dance again, but not as a marionette. So I do.