marionette


she moved around the house,
too tired to care, 
what was happening around her.
her soul wounded so badly,
that she had given up trying to repair.
her wounded soul 
spilling the ugliness to her physical - 
tiredness, sickness and 
lack of confidence.
she complained - 
of pain that was seen 
too afraid to expose 
the unseen ones. 
she found it difficult to get out of bed, she said
it was neither lethargy nor any illness
it was sheer unwillingness to do better.
she let people tell her what to do;
how and when to do it.
she ate the words of others -
without a single word of her own.
she let the naughty boy take care of her,
the one who had broken her in first place.
she needed him.
others around her asked “why?”
she had no answer;
he was her lifeline -
despite all the hurt he caused.
companionship.
sense of belonging.
no matter how much others loved her
her broken heart belonged to him
she let him string her wrists and ankles
and then danced to his tune.
like a marionette.
the boy who had broken her
now cared for her, showed concern.
picked up the broken pieces and -
plastered her wounds with love.





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Books by Arti Honrao


Depression is REAL

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