It's Quiet In The Suburbs Poem by Dan Caliolio

Hey girl,
shakey little Marionette! let me tweak you a smile for a nickel.
i'm that puppeteer who has the world to offer.
my carriage is nonetheless brand new,
so i rest assure
that your strings are worth the pull.
Let's be honest,
we spent hours in front of the screen
getting better
at unveiling converstations
about the 'birds and the bees',
and its amazing, that time under the tree,
where we watched the audience laugh out of pity.

why is it that you've got me, the playwright, wrapped around your finger.
you; the actress; the damsel in distress?
so i posted that question through the books,
and i've got some vague replies,
but i figured it out in my sleep,
that when i tugged the last string on your back,
i hit your heart.
it isn't a mistake,
that puppets like you can love like autumn.
while you slept,
i wrote everything.
and now that i feel the coldness of the night,
you can say that you can put the day to shame.

yeah i'm falling for my best friend, but isn't that such a cliche situation
that everyone's gotten used to it.
it's perfect, the day when it rained.
when it was cold like we imagined it.

wait,
perfect...theres no word such as perfect.
i thought the show was over
and we we're all alone.
no,
wait what?
the audience, laughed in pity, right?
define pity again for me, i'm a bit cold, and lifeless.
be honest, you've got hold to your own strings now?
since when.
i'm confused,
wait, i thought puppets like you can love like autumn.
hold on, damn it, hold on,
those aren't your strings, Kid.
pull them for me, stop singing lies, and start making sense.
Those Are My Strings.
who's to know about this?
i thought we hit it off with the audience
and paid off with that 'cliche' sentence.
you have my strings, and you've been tugging it
for entertainment.
theres no audience at the moment, there never was,
you laughed out of pity,
and preceded the thought of self fulfillment.
such a wonderful feeling.

yeah, i can say i'm naive.
that i was dreaming way too far ahead.
dear Miss puppeteer, pull the last string on
my back,
maybe it will make sense.
make sense in such a way that you never were a marionette,
that i never was real,
never was the showman who gave wooden hands lives.
i've got it backwards
since the start.

so before i tuck you in to sleep, Ava,
hold me closely
and ask yourself
If you've ever pulled the last string my wooden hands
kept for you.