The puppeteer's hands begin to falter,

As the strings that held together

Your perfect composure

Slowly begin to snap.

Each string, unraveling at its core.

 

As each one breaks,

The puppeteer's control slowly slips away.

The body movements, and facial expressions,

Lose perfection.

 

That everlasting smile,

fails to come easily.

Your perfect posture,

Turns into a slight slouch.

 

Face it, you're falling apart.

You're losing control.

That acting you had perfected,

Is failing you.

 

Or so you think.

 

Pull back together.

Re-twist your strings,

And double knot them.

 

All your years of hard work,

To avoid the questions,

And judgemental stares

Aren't about to be ruined.

 

Hold onto your composure.

Continue to act.

You're not ready to fall apart yet.

 

Allow the puppeteer of your mind

To take control again.

To guide you through life,

And to contort your miserable features,

Into those of happiness and love.

 

Let your strings be pulled,

Tight and upright.

The way everyone expects you to be.