puppet boy

poem 03

Flickering lights.
A cold floor.
I tried with my might
But couldn't escape.

The man came
and visited me often.
He would call me lame
and spat in my face.

A cold brush
glides across my face.
He didn't rush,
taking his time.

"You must be perfect,"
he said as I cried,
smudges were the aftereffect
of my crybaby tears.

"You'll never be like the others!"
he yelled as I sobbed.
"You will never be like your brother!"
He leaves and locks the door.

But John is dead.
I don't want to be like him.
I want to be back in my bed,
safe from the man.

John danced
for crowds so big.
His skills enhanced
after each show.

He said his strings
made him the best.
But the rope only brings
me sadness.

I can't compete
with a Puppet, like John.
He was one of the Man's Elite,
a favorite among all.

I am useless.
Just another extra.
A girl in a dress,
that's not the star.

The door creaks open,
footsteps thudding down the stairs.
"Maddie, come to the den.
It's show time."

This show must be the best.
I will push myself harder,
until I need a rest.
I will do better.

The Man approaches me,
his hands behind his back.
"For this show to be
your greatest show yet."

He pulls out a vile
filled with a liquid
the same color as the Nile.
"It will make you an Elite."

"But you will have to take a sip,"
he says with a wicked grin.
I nod and drink it drip-by-drip.
It's sour, yet so sweet.

I feel my arms go numb,
my legs and torso following.
I'm being dumb,
I'm just imagining things.

The Man takes my feet
and I don't feel a thing.
He ties them neat,
binding them together.

"Stop it!" I yelp,
terror filling by body.
"I'm just trying to help,"
he responds calmly.

"You will be my best puppet yet
and this will make you better."
I sigh as I'm lifted and set
on the brightly lit stage.

My feet have turned red
and raw from the rope.
I wish I was in my bed,
dying there instead of with the Man.

A rope is placed around my neck,
loosely at first.
It tightens and I collapse on the deck.
Some puppet I am.

The Man grins as I lay,
lifeless and stiff.
"This puppet will be perfect for the play,"
he cackles in glee.

I won't fight back now.
I'll do as I'm told.
As the show ends, I take a bow
for this was my best performance yet.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

/ author's note /

This was a poem I wrote for the States competition of Power of the Pen. The prompt is "Stuck. Build a story around this word." The judges thought it was okay but not AMAZING and I agree with them.