I am made of wood.

Though you can not tell,
I dance on the strings of a puppet.

Looks can be deceiving.
You'd never know I'm bleeding.

My face is painted with a smile.
My tears are hidden in a file.

Everytime I stop pretending,
Someone pulls on my puppet strings.

All I want is to be real,
To cut the strings that hold me captive.

Will I ever be free to be me?