I am a puppet, controlled by my strings
Made up of wood and material things.
My father has branches, my mother has wings.
I don't know how I came to be.

My father is stuck and gone is my mother,
I have not a home nor a friend nor a brother.
The days fly on past, each like the other,
I look but I no longer see.

Watch my feet tap to the beat of the song
That the puppeteers play as the show carries on
But I don't know the words and the rhythm is wrong
And I can't even shudder or plea.

The paint on my fixed wooden smile starts to crack
As I hang from my hook in the after-show black
Slowly I rot as they've broken my back
And my colours fade faithfully.

I vow I will cut off my strings one by one,
And then when I'm free I will finally run
And I'll bask in the sea and the sand and the sun
And in my last breath I'll be me.

Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow talle?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

Is this what it feels like to be,
what they call,
"hanging on by a thread"?
Tenaciously clinging to some faint hope that you still want me?
My raw parts?
My shattered self?
I am grasping for
some inkling,
some sign,
some act that will show you still care.
You have left me completely numb and without good reason.

I don't miss your eyes
or even your lips.
I don't miss your frame:
your shoulders, your chin, your hips.
I don't miss the lust,
or the heat of the moment.

I miss the feeling behind it all.

I miss eyes that undress my thoughts.
      Stripping them of every layer until all
      that's left is venerable, naked, trembling truth.
I miss lips stitched to a mouth that has power.
       The power to speak not only to my ears, but to
       every inch of me.
       Shooting hot, prickly shivers down my spine
OR
       sending massive cashing-to-the-shore shakes
       on the Sea of My Own Tears.
I miss a frame that screams "I want you".
        Shoulders that lead,
        a chin that rests,
        hip bones that press.

I miss you more than I thought I would… think I should.