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,
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.
I will fight,
And I am stronger than I have ever been.
I won’t die quietly.