I am a puppet.
You may raise me a smile, draw me a sad mouth or turn me into a swirl. You know what to do.
I have no voice, choice, neither a preference. I live to showcase how you feel, how you wish to feel or a story you wish to tell.
So don’t take me seriously, I am only a puppet. I made it up the love I displayed. I made it up for you to break it up.
Did I weep, no way, someone’s coffee just spilt.
I am either happy or sad, depending on who is in control, I am neither happy nor sad, as I have got no soul. a Puppet is a fanny cheerful caring good company when you needed one, a puppet is boring ridiculous pathetic emotionless ignorable surplus, when you had someone and content.
This has got me, too many people I have been acting. My left foot broken by the girl jumping off the bridge, my hair gone gray after the king gave up his love for the country, my skirt is torn from picking in the rose bed and look at my eyes, they are tired, they are chipped from chill and burn. Chill and burn, it is life to be. A puppet has a life, for as long as you keep.
A puppet can be calm, always smile gently and not to grin.
Sitting on the sofa corner when you watch the telly, cook the meal, weed the garden, out for work, receiving one greeting from you once in a while – good night.
A puppet can be gorgeous. Constantly being looked after, new dress, new hair, powder on the face, polish on the nail, it can be kissed and hugged many times a day, can go to bed with you, warmly wrapped and lightly perfumed.
A puppet can be short lived. Twisted by angry fingers, painted by playful babies, soaped in cold water for days and left in sun for months and worst still, rotten on the dumping ground.
Some puppet, a puppet likes me, is a traveler, from hand to hand, home to home with ticket goodbye and ticket welcome. I lived too many lives in one life, can someone please call time. This puppet overstayed its welcome.
It is you that squeezed just a bit too hard, kissed just a bit too wild, your body aroma is just a bit too mesmerising, you woke up my soul. I become your puppet when I am worn and wretched, nothing left with me is decent enough, no more supple limbs, no more smooth skin, no more suitable outfit, my soul tells me that I do not deserve your keep.
Oh it is painful to feel human, to have a soul of human being, I am taking myself too seriously and no where I now wish to be. I am a puppet and I wish to disappear, can you help me? I have lived too many lives and I am tired, don’t you see, my eyes are chipped from chill and burn. Did I weep, no way, someone’s coffee just spilt.