am i a puppet?
what are these strings?
i was told i
could become so many things

i'm used to the whispers,
i'm used to the lies,
i'm used to the looks
i've been given so many times

am i not my own?
can i not fly?
instead of being given my wings
i'm told not to try

kick me while i'm down,
split my lip across your fist,
i'll be what you want,
the nightmare for which you've wished

don't cry when i come,
don't cry when i leave,
i was never a thing
for you to grieve