STRINGS

Those who hold the strings to my heart,

In this world,

are very few,

I can count them on my fingers,

And name them in a breath.

Yet if they pull my strings just hard enough,

Long enough,

My heart would stop beating.

I would die quietly.

 

If you are not one of them,

And you think you can lasso my soul,

Knit me puppet strings to dance in,

My bristles will rise.

Beware,

I will fight,

And I am stronger than I have ever been.

I won’t die quietly.

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