[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]
My strings are invisible but
Strings they still are. They pierce
The hard skin of my hands, arms, legs,
And yank my limbs into motion.
Words fly out of my mouth but
Not of my own accord.
They don’t even sound like me.
I stare with my pleading eyes,
The only thing I still have control of,
To make you see he is controlling me,
That I can’t escape his wooden prison.
The real me is trapped within; all I want
Why doesn’t anyone see it?