A girl lets a boy control her like a puppet because one day she expects him to pick up her heart strings and make her twirl to the beat of her pulse.
The more boys that drop her, the more frayed her strings become, and the harder it becomes for her to trust them to be picked up again. But one day there will be the right pair of hands that will lift her up again, and make her dance.

The End

4 comments about this poem Feed