I wanna be mad— mad at the strings, mad at the one who controls, mad for letting them control me. Mad at who I am, mad at who I let myself be, mad at something I can’t even define. “Be proper.” “Eat this.” “Do that.” “Sleep early.” “Try this.” “Don’t cuss.” “Stand up.” “Be this.” Eat shit. Why? Why did I let them control me? Why? Why did I let them sway me? Why? Why did I let this happen to me? The strings grip tighter— ankles, arms, wrists, throat. Driving me mad. Driving me crazy. I might lose my head— if I ever let myself. But this mind, this thin thread of sanity, this thing inside of me— my morals— keeps me aligned. Keeps me alive. These strings Trying not to tie a knot. Trying not to pull too hard. Trying not to cut. I want to be free— so desperately free— but the strings make me still. Stand still. Behave still. If I lose them, I’ll lose myself. May God help me stay put and be still.