He tied me up with a string so I would become his little puppet, controlling my every move. The way I walked and the way I talked was dictated by his script. He put on a show so we would look good in front of crowds. But when it's all said and done and the curtains close then he would play me like a toy. Because that's what I was. A toy. I was his toy.
YOU ARE READING
Babies Born Broken
Poésieliving life through my broken brown eyes eyes perceived through my messy words.
