Tara Caribou – Who writes?
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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