Is this a gift?

Somewhere out there,

there is a pair of scissors

large and sharp

and of all the right proportions to cut me down

from the marionetter’s cross you have seen so fit to crucify me on.

Strung so carelessly about, I am

limbs tied to the most unexpected obstacles

finer than those you have built before.

The fishing line is digging in,

red lines criss crossing from where the weight of this

digs in, sharp and thin, like your voice

when you’re pulling the tightest.

My face is glued to the looking glass,

shiny and new, fading so fast,

I’m trying so hard to not jump right in;

Maybe it's your leash keeping me from drowning myself,

but never would I have walked to the water

without your guiding hand.