Everyone claps when the show is over.
The curtains draw to a close,
And the lively night returns to shadow.
But little do they know—
While the spectacle is done,
A crisis for the puppet without its puppeteer has just begun.

How do I smile?
How do I frown?
Without a hand to guide me,
How can I show myself to any degree—
How can I scowl?
How can I sneer?
If there are no strings to pull me near,
There’s no way to move while being sincere.

How do I tell them how I feel?
How do I show what I’m going through?
If the music stops, the stage is still,
I am trapped with no one to turn to.

So I will sit here, silent, and wait
For the next spectacle to begin.
Ready to be used—
To accept my fate—
For the outward approval of the audience again.
Because only when I’m controlled
Does my existence feel whole.

I am an apple tree that stands alone in the wild.
Developed with no interference from the outside world.
Ready to be picked and shared with others.
Away from the other orange trees that sway and murmur between themselves.
They only spread out their branches to fellow orange trees.
I have chosen not to be one of them.
They would only disrupt my path to growth and development.
Similar but not the same.
I am a complex entity
Composed of routes and stems
I require varied soil to flourish.
Ready to be fearless.
Ready to rely on only myself.
Ready to be accepted by myself.
I do not depend on others to feel complete.
Does an apple tree in the wild need others to develop itself?
No, it does not.
It needs only its soul,
the wind, and the rain to prosper and flourish.