The Mad Puppeteer

Tara Caribou – Who writes?

Raw Earth Ink

his fingers dancing, flicking
manipulating and twirling
the strings attached
to my cracked open heart

he made it look easy

his wrist barely moved and
I fell down at his feet
his thumb lifted and
I begged his forgiveness

I’m under his spell
this mad puppeteer of my soul

what he wishes, I perform
my own pen, attached to my heart
my heart, attached to his strings
his strings, attached to his whim

I am the doll, his very thoughts
written out and counted through
a filter shaped like me
a puppet, a mirror, a twisted shadow

that’s me

he drew up a fist and
I cowered scribbling furiously
his fingers trembled and
my pages filled with his words

in the end, I’m realizing
that the marionette who is me
is as much a part of him
as he is an extension of me


tara caribou | ©2021

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