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The Act
October 29, 2014
Glassy eyes
and coated polished perfection.
Attached to the strings
that lift me up the ground
and trot me all over without my control.
Guided without realization of it.
I’m moving though I’m not really there.
I speak,
however, its not my voice.
The words speak for me and I am just the act.
What all the children gather up to see,
the dressed up, fake, amusingly,
Old cliche puppetry.
© Tatyana Z., Norwood, MA
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