I am not a broken toy,
So don’t try to fix me.
Don’t use your psychology to tell me I am depressed,
Or your biology to tell me my heart is broken.
Maybe I am just a puppet,
Maybe I have no heart at all,
Maybe I am just like Pinocchio,
A girl who is made real by magic,
But I am not really real,
Maybe I am just dangling from invisible threads,
Manipulated from above.
So maybe I am a broken, confused mixed up toy,
Who knows?
Ask the puppeteer pulling the strings.


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