my thoughts are not my own.
Like a pantomime I go through space.
Controlled from afar.
The ties of a puppeteer constrict my breathing,
muffle my emotion.
I’m struggling against their force,
feeling the surge of power.
That power feeds my seeds of anger,
small growths that are blossoming
into a force that i’m fearful to use.
Cutting those ties means freedom,
a freedom I’ve been ignoring,
holding fast to the past.
Not wanting to go forward alone.
Those ties holding me are made of string, not steel.
They never gave me support, just a false sense of security.
They were never truly holding me, though I felt them.
Like a lie, I need to reveal them for what they are.
False hope, a manipulation of the truth into a fairytale,
only they can believe.
I will not be held hostage anymore.