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Image for the poem Just a plaything...

Just a plaything...

Marks are left on the body, sadness has settled in the soul  
I am like a puppet, just a doll and I am not sorry    
So he took me out of the box, quietly shook the dust    
Awkward without the puppeteer, he seemed to breathe life into me    
And now he pulls the strings, I follow the gestures of the hands ...    
His smile is shining, his pleasure is assured, his desires fulfilled    
The weak-willed doll dances, playing her role discreetly,    
And each doll hides its own resentment and pain    
Written by KristinaX
Published | Edited 9th Jun 2022
Author's Note
The past can be haunting, confusing, and painful... You always hear the footsteps behind you as it stalks you into the present and future, never more than one step away. And I wonder what is wrong with me because maybe I remember the excitement more, yearning to recreate those feelings that should have never been but also feeling the emptiness left by the ones that should have. Wondering why did I have to grow into this crazy contradiction. But some questions will always be left unanswered and some things can never be forgotten.
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