Puppet

Ah, but I do exist and maybe in spite of you,
and quite possibly to spite you,
and your tireless efforts to undo me.
I exist nonetheless. I am vital without you.

Look here how I move. Here! Look!
And without your pulling at my strings.
How easily I flail my arms without your manipulation.
How easily I speak without your ventriloquism.

Were you expecting obedience? Gratitude perhaps?
I’m sorry, but I won’t play the role you've chosen:
that “god-given” nonsense you’re always on about;
to be that good little toy you're so fond of.

I won’t sit still, like a good little puppet,
hanging from my strings in the cupboard,
till you feel it necessary to fetch me,
so you can play out your little fantasy.

I won't keep quiet, the silenced fetish,
debarked in the suitcase like a handbagged dog,
till you feel it necessary to fetch me,
so you can put your own words in my mouth.

Oh I'm too angry, you say? So bitter.
Not really. Although you couldn't understand.
You don't know the stage you've appropriated.
You're up in the rafters. I live on the stage.

Of course it makes you feel uncomfortable.
This isn't the world you were taught.
This isn't the world you grew up in.
This world belongs to the puppeteer and his strings.

But what good is a puppeteer without a puppet,
when the puppet doesn't need you anymore?
What use are you to me now that scissors exist,
suddenly snipping the strings to disentangle you?

Your permission is meaningless.
So regardless of what you do, how hard you try,
this puppet just won't sit still and shut up.
Are you uncomfortable? Good.

That means you're listening.

-o0o-