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The Puppet

I am a puppet,
Held up by threads,
Frayed at the ends.
The puppeteers are cruel people,
All one hundred of them or so,
They laugh and they joke,
At my fat wooden body,
My worn rag clothes
My painted on smile.
They pull my strings left and
Right,
Dragging me.
They cut my stings,
One
By
One.
Until I fall.

I am a puppet,
Crumpled and broken,
My threads are all cut,
My heart is torn open.
My puppeteers left me.
Though I am glad.
What am I now?
What is a puppet,
With no one to pull my,
Stings.



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KestrelThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Nov. 1, 2013 at 9:06 pm
Hi! I really liked this, it's very relatable to me, and I wrote something very similar recently. Though I have to wonder...you're practically my neighbor. Funny if we know/ knew each other?
 
Literature_DarlingThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. replied...
Nov. 2, 2013 at 10:01 am
yes that would be very funny/strange
 
holly1999 said...
Apr. 1, 2013 at 1:49 pm
I really liked this. It sent out a strong message as well as being beautifully written. Great job! :)
 
MckayThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Mar. 16, 2013 at 1:43 pm
I love the perspective you used of the puppets you used to emonstrate the cruelty of bulling and abuse, I assume. One minor thing only, did you mean Strings rather Stings at the end? Otherwise, well done.
 
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