Puppeteer

By: Jacob La Mar

What does love matter,

Even a love like mine,

Love’s not in the strings for me,

Because I’m just a puppet,

I have wooden legs,

Wooden arms,

But not a wooden heart,

I feel everything,

Love feels like a burning,

Like my heart is burning as if it was wooden

But I’m doomed to the fate of a puppet,

To the destiny of a puppet,

Forced to live under a greater force,

That pulls me in whatever direction is momentarily desired,

With no regard for the direction I desire,

For even as I speak, I think about you,

I think about the splintering old wood I’m made of,

And how you’re sanded and new,

And how that reason among others,

Causes my puppeteer to draw me away from you,

O how I despise my strings,

One constant reminder of my oppression,

Since I came into being,

Roughly cut to a basic shape,

In a mass producing puppet shop,

Where other, virtual identical’s to me,

Were also created,

Some to dance, some to speak,

Still others were made to sing,

But none were given their talents,

Nor their abilities, short of strings,

Some were even created just to open their mouths,

And when the puppeteer’s voice came out instead,

People would simply recline their heads and laugh,

And act like they believed the voice came from the puppets head,

But they knew as well as I know who controls our mouth,

The same person who my twins pretend, even to themselves to live without,

Regardless, despite they’re denial,

I think it’s obvious that some greater being,

Is up above us somewhere pulling the strings,

And if I speak the truth, I have but one hope,

That he’ll take my feelings into account and feel for both,

Myself, my twins, and my puppet love here on set,

And that he’ll draw us together in some way,

If she’s at my side through the puppeteer’s performance,

I would gladly perform under him on the stage.