We claim to know what is reality;
What is real,
What is fake,
What is possible,
What is not.

But how does one know?

After all, what is it to see?
What is it to feel?
What is it to hear?
What is it to smell?
What is it to taste?

It is to experience.

The colors we observe,
The surfaces we can touch,
The sounds we can pick up on,
The scents that reach our noses,
The flavors that hit our tongues-

That is reality.

It is everything that we can perceive,
Everything that we can comprehend,
Everything that we can think of,
Everything that we process.
This may be reality,

But is reality real?

The puppeteers are above us,
Directing this show,
As we play and dance upon this stage,
Our limbs swinging as they go.

We sway with their movements,
We are pulled on our strings,
We move how they want,
Yet none notice a thing.

These bright red lines,
Right in our faces,
Make us do what we “desire,”
Make us go many places.

Aside from our limbs,
What they really control,
Is the brain in our heads,
Taking us whole.

Make us think we like this,
Make us think we like that,
Make us think we’re wrong if we don’t,
Make us think we’re nothing but ****.

Even though I see,
Even though I know,
I am still attached to these strings,
I cannot make them go.

If I were to tug them away,
Right out of their hands,
I’d be seen as wrong,
Not following their unseen demands.

So I will continue to dance,
I will continue to sway,
I will continue this act,
Until the right day.