9/20/21 Mon. 9:16 am

(A part woke this morning and wrote this.)
In this world of never enough, my world of too much is still there, here. Never enough in this world of people who never hear, understand, or care to. Who wants to or sees a need to, when there is no related, connected reason, or cause for them to have a care, or need to? I’m not their charge, their problem for accomplishment of their purpose whether their own or given by another. I am the puppet whose strings one pulls for control, to manipulate this place of what is called life that has different meanings to different ones.

Who am I? I am like the puppet set aside whose strings have become worn, badly tangled, and dropped too many times causing a twisted string in the arm connection that won’t work right anymore, the mangled leg is tangled in the string causing it to stay up and move higher when it should not, and the other leg is no longer connected to the string to pull it up thus not cooperating at all. My head doesn’t stay up but hangs down to the side in an eerie sort of way that frightens some. I have been deemed unusable as is and need too much attention to perform my designed purpose, but not to be discarded to the garbage heap for there are those that might want to make a try of rebuilding this very used, damaged, and uncared for puppet. There are few that could or ever would take the interest to sacrifice resources to pick up this useless time-consuming project.

It was nice at times to have those who appreciated and had joy when I was able to perform to their liking. It was known my strings were never quite right so I was handled a little differently than others and never could respond just right. Handlers and audiences notice and don’t like it when things are not flowing in smooth perfect timing. Do I want to have my strings pulled, being made to act to every emotion and bidding to please others? Never, no; yet in being what else is there other than to be left on the shelf off to the side in my little heap of a position, unable to sit up or lay correctly while waiting with no feeling of dignity or worth. Is there value in this jumbled shell of a painted form resembling others of value while worn, damaged, and considered old with too many problems?

I do not want to hear, see, or feel their uncaring words and actions for me to suffer more of the constant pain that is in me. I don’t want the handlers for they are just concerned about getting through the performance, not caring about the previous damage done to me or allowing me any repairs. They yank, pull, and toss me around for, after all, she (it) is just a thing and there are plenty others and much better ones. Meanwhile, this could still be made to perform with some work if one had to. No, I don’t want that too much and never-ending pain, for there, is still the too much hidden in me deeper than that which is evident.

It is a puppet. It doesn’t feel or think or know anything. It’s just made to perform as I pull the strings and make it do what I want and when I want. It’s just a thing to manipulate for my purpose and desire, to do with it when I please, when I have a thought to.