Journal Poems

Ventriloquist

A Poem
Photo by Irene Lasus on Pexels.com

I just wanted to be real.

I craved to be touched, to have more to my wooden frame than a painted face and a common name.

I wanted to feel.

I longed for smooth moves and a voice of my own. Too long a play thing, I wanted to be grown.

And you found me, Gepetto.

You found me, limp and awkward as ever. Your callous hands rubbed me better.

I was whole because you made me so, beautiful because you said I am.

I was your puppet; strung, attached to your fingers.

But how real was real if I needed you to make me dance?

I just wanted to be real.

And while you were busy fixing another broken thing, I found my hands and cut the strings. 

I was lonely but I was real.

Thank you, Gepetto.

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