Puppets On Strings

28 Days Of Poetry and Prose

Self-worth is such a strange thing
Thirty-Seven years I hated myself and
felt like a puppet on a string

My body 
My feelings
My truth
I hid

Told to be a man,
never had a chance
to be a kid.

Little by little,
I hid behind masks
Darkness took over my life and
everything was a task.

Till one day I found myself
alone and ready to die
My last breath was coming, and
no one knew why.

Death whispered in my ears
and my body turned numb.

Tears ran down my face and
I felt a sense of worth. I turned
to the empty pages, my words
created morphed a rebirth.

Slowly and surely
I fell in love with
who I am. I let go
of the past and
started again. 

Photo by Kultbrecher on Unsplash