intention

I carried myself like a puppet from string.
Arms and legs flailing and knocking
into your ribs, shoving ornaments off shelves.

This, I named: "Dance"

Venom sprang from my tongue.
Screaming like a child, I shook the rattle
that sat on the end of my tail.

This, I named: "Song"

I fawned at the quiet light in my lamp.
Pupils dilating in the night, blind to
the flame's pleads for fuel; it grew dull.

This, I named: "Love"

Now my strings are cut, no more dance.
My serpentine de-fanged, no more song.
My dark lamp full, but without ignition.

And I have the nerve to name this: "healed"