la marionnette.

Brittle bones that can barely hold the weight of my inadequacy.
Lungs filled with glass, vocal chords that only speak carefully chosen words.
Strings attached to my meaningless limbs, a tawdry frock whose garishness I detest.
A painted smile, a mask I cannot, dare not crack.

I am a marionette.
My master is a harsh one.
"Dance, dance!" she cries.
All I want is to sleep.
Sometimes I think I'd rather be dead, than alive through her maneuverings.

{Distorted carnival sounds;
Bright and coloured lights that whirl.
A carousel that never stops,
A ferris wheel stuck at the top.}

"Dance, my puppet! Danse, ma poupée!"

On the stage with the blinding lights, the insincere music never ceases.
My dance of my deceit never ends.
All in hopes to please the audience that I'm afraid to look at now.

The hands that fashioned me were gentle,
I remember them faintly, faintly.
My creator made me with a purpose!
I remember his kind voice told me.
He put something of himself in my heart.
I can still feel it pulsing, pumping his life into me those times when I want death.

I wish I could have stayed with him,
directed by his wise hands
But someone... someone thought they knew better than my creator.
That someone thought they could control me better than he ever could.

So, I jerk and bob to the unrelenting commands;
Too broken to make things right.
Forever to be haunted by this knowledge:
The someone who holds my strings,
the someone who controls my actions.... is no one but myself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{I wrote this yesterday when I was supposed to be doing school, hehe. A lot of my writing seems to get done when I'm supposed to be doing other things... like sleeping! Ah well.
And while, yes, this is allegorical, it is not a representation of how I'm feeling right now. I just don't want anyone to worry about me; I'm fine! Admittedly though, I have felt this way in the past.}


{Image found here.}

Letters never sent.

Dear Library,
I love you. Even though you don't always have the books I want.
<3

Your Devoted Friend,

Me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Young Man Who Works at My Library,
Why, yes. I was afraid to approach the front desk where you were stationed and ask you if any of my holds were in the back. It's nothing against you personally, I have a slight apprehension of almost all young men. {Don't ask.}
And - I really can form a sentence that doesn't contain the word 'um'; I was nervous!

Sheepishly yours,

Me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Onion I Chopped for Dinner the Other Night,
Well, I'm glad to know my tear ducts are still in perfect working order.
But, was being that pungent really necessary??

Tearfully yours,

Me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Very-Pregnant Woman Who Goes to Our New-ish Church,
The first time I saw you, I greatly admired your extremely long, blonde hair.
Why, oh, why did you cut it short and dye it red?

With regret,

Me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Little Boy Who Sat in Front of Me at the Theater,
I must say, I liked your hat an awful lot! That style is usually worn by old men, but it complemented your 5 year old self quite adorably. {I don't really know your age, of course. But you can't be much older than 5.}

Your Secret Admirer,

Me

Some of the beautiful things.

Just when her life was the most sodden with disappointments that it had ever been...
When she felt the only thing she wanted to do was slip into a fading nothingness; an anonymous grave....
Just when she had forgotten there is hope...
Then, she discovered it: the preservation of the things that made her happiest.
She collected empty bottles & jars and in them stored her treasures.

{Extract of sunshine; spice of the wind on an autumn noon.}

She set these containers on a shelf in an alcove in her kitchen, labeling them with a meticulous hand.

{Salt tasting of ocean breezes; essence of a feathery kiss.}

Pride welled in her heart when she surveyed the neat lines of her assorted riches. Lovingly, she would run her fingers along their varied surfaces. Some warm, some cool.

{Decanters full of intoxicating moonlight-infused water, gathered from a lake at midnight.}

With a careful reverence, she dusted them every day.

{A jar full of the fog that seems to creep from the forests and settle in the roads.}

Every day her collection grew, for now her senses were opened and she found beautiful things everywhere she went.

{Bottle upon bottle filled full of the infectious giggles of the little boy who lived down the street.}

All these years, she had mechanically fed her body but starved that thing inside her. The thing inside everyone that is sustained by the abstract & beautiful things of life.
She had forgotten you need more than physical sustenance to keep one's soul alive.
But, now she has remembered... and her life has never been more dear to her.