A poem. PUPPETEERED
All your life you've always needed to take permission to be, seeking validation from those whose praises you longed for, ensnared by your desire to be loved. These unwholesome desires became your strings attaching you to the will of mortals, binding you to your puppeteers every whim.
Their wishes were your command, you became a character in your own story, lending the pen to everyone who cared to write. Soon their opinions became your reality. Juxtaposed with the truth were their lies, and enclosed within the clams the pearls. Raised from dust the beauty that you could be was discarded for what they could perceive. Imprinted in your subconscious mind by the authors who wrote your stories were rules; rules about how you should breathe, how you were to live, the way you should smile and what you should hope for.
Every dream you had they mistook for fantasy. Every time you sought to fly, you were reminded of gravity, but no one cared about the laws of creatures of flight.
You were supposed to act a certain way, speak with a certain tone, dress a certain way and be a person of a certain class. But no one ever bothered to ask what you wanted. No one cared to see if you were capable of acting the scripts written out for you.
No place ever fit right, so you became content being the misfit. You weren't born to be mediocre, you weren't sculpted to fulfill dreams they had no courage to chase. Neither were you made to slave under the sun just to afford bread. You were designed for so much more. Even though you hurt and even though sometimes it gets lonely, you must begin to see in yourself the value that the world cannot. You must begin to walk the path set out for you by the One who holds the stars. And even though you may not be applauded by those you once loved. You must begin one day at a time to believe, to see, and to create the story worth living for.
