the puppeteer
my arms weren’t my arms
legs weren’t my legs
hands fingers feet and toes
all his
it felt good at first
until it didn’t
until my body wasn’t my own
and my eyelids were stretched shut
blinded with lust
manipulate me harder
keep pulling my strings like that daddy
keep fucking me and never making me feel pleasure
keep me there to occupy that space on the shelf
your mother never taught you to fulfill
that place in your heart that lacked compassion
lacked empathy
lacked maturity
I wonder what the audience would think of this show you put on
would they be able to see my skin shifting to silicone
would they be able to recognize how tense my body had become
how hollow
how disconnected
a corpse waiting to be fondled with
made to shuck and jive and dance
as if it wasn’t already dead inside
can they tell that I’m just a puppet
do they know I don’t know who I am anymore?