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Too Deep of Thinking

There is a puppeteer, commanding me which way to go, advising me on my decisions. Caging me, with it’s crowded air. This puppeteer is everyone yet no one, nevertheless, somehow it can be so influential despite being abstract. Society, the great puppeteer, let’s us know that it’s always in control. With a calloused hand it plucks the strings of a bow, and with an arrow strikes at the subconsciousness, tethering itself there forever and always. We can stray, we can pull, we can tug, but as long as we exist it’s embedded there.


But my heart. But my heart. It cannot allow such control, such confinements. It cannot allow these strings to wrap themselves around my limbs. These strings may cause rope burns but they cannot tie themselves to my heart. My mind, who reminds me who my puppeteer is, who my master is, keeps my heart at bay. The battle between the two forces of my soul are warring constantly, over little things like whether I should have this ice cream or not, and over colossal things like my future. Where will it lead me?


The puppeteer will advise me on which way to go, I can assure you, but I hope my heart wins in this war. Maybe it can win all the wars.




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