Strings
Staring at my phone screen,
wondering why I feel this shade of blue,
a shade I have never known before.
Intense, yet subtle.
It only finds me when you are away,
never when you are near.
For someone so full of personality,
I feel stripped of it now.
Waiting for you to pull the string
so I can perform for you again,
again and again.
Even as the string grows loose,
I fear that if you pull it once more,
it will finally tear,
and I will never perform for you again.
I want you to pick me up and play with me,
no strings,
no shelf to place me back on,
just you and me,
all the time.
But when my daydreams of being your favorite doll,
your favorite toy,
begin to fade,
I am left with the truth:
I am still just a toy.
And when you leave the apartment,
I do not know who I am.
I do not know how to act,
what to do,
or where to place the parts of me
that only seem to exist for you.
I lose myself, piece by piece,
until you come back
and use me again.
