Severed Puppet Strings

Sometimes, it just hurts to think. To go through the life and analyze people, including yourself. To ask questions that never seem to get answered. {....Why did that happen? What was she thinking? Is she serious?....} To compare yourself to others. {....She's so much prettier. smarter. charming. wealthy. stronger. eloquent. creative....} To wonder why people seem to accept certain people more. {....Why did he ask for her and not me? They are all looking for her. She is everyone's favorite person. Everyone knows her. She's is the first to be invited or requested....} To notice all your own bad points. {....loser. unattractive. dumb. quiet. slow. poor. fat. awkward. shy. weird....}

To feel like a puppet, hanging there with your strings being cut, one by one. To just put up a wall and block everyone out. Blasting the music, singing your lungs out. Ignoring the voices around you. Ignoring the thoughts in you head. Going on with life. Putting up a shell, a shield, against others. Trying to stand tall, even though my puppet strings are severed clean. It's a struggle and the shell is not the ultimate defense with minute cracks, vulnerable to those with unsuspecting accuracy. But it is a battle to fight and I intend to win.