Pull the string.

The head of the doll jerks up,

Life fills its body,

And the dance begins.

Pull the string.

A saccharine smile appears,

With youthful eyes,

And a songbird’s singing from its throat.

Pull the string.

The arm goes up,

Pencil in hand,

And the doll writes.

Pull the string.

The hand moves,

Fills in the little bubbles

And returns with a Letter.

Pull the string.

The other arm goes up,

Its hands shake with glee,

And now the doll is playing.

Pull the string.

They don’t like that the doll is playing.

Dolls are not supposed to be loud,

But obedient.

Pull the string.

The whole body of the doll jerks,

And suddenly,

The first crack appears.

Pull the string.

It’s the doll’s legs moving now,

Moving away from the puppeteer,

But the puppeteer still grasps its strings.

Pull the string. 

The doll is always meant to come back,

But it does not want to come back,

And another crack appears.

Pull the string.

The puppeteer is being too rough now,

Cracks litter the porcelain skin,

The smile less bright.

Pull the string.

It? No,

She,

She sees the puppeteers for what they are.

Pull the string.

Only it is her pulling the strings,

Those weighted strings,

And snaps them in half.

Pull the string.

They are no longer weighted,

they do not bind her anymore,

And she watches as they flutter away.

Pull the string. 

The once doll,

Now human,

Whispers goodbye to her childhood.