**NO WOODEN PUPPETS WERE HARMED IN THE PRODUCTION OF THIS POEM** [reshared from @TweetyBurd] https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1169009583/ ----- Focus on being the best version of yourself not the idealized version of someone else <3 ----- Art and poem) @UrLoculBurd Song) Army Dreamers by Kate Bush ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ A formless heap of wood was once found by an adept woodcarver He carefully sculpted and carved and chiseled at that pile until it was finished, A delicate marionette, with a wood finish as smooth as glass, adorned in sapphire blue lace, and one singular ebony-black button eye, Sylvie-Bette. The woodcarver knew just the perfect place for her. But no longer than had he put his tools down to lead her, she spiraled away into the new and golden sunrise. There, she thought, she would find her place. However, even being the dancer she was, without the knowledge or support, her steps were uneven and her leaps crooked. She twisted midair, tumbling across a steep hill as her srews came undone and her limbs loosened. But with only some ripped strands of her attire and a thin, sharp twig, her broken body she mended together. But a fox, passing by muttered, "Oh no, that won't do. You need someone with nimble paws like mine to handle those strings for you" That Sylvie-Bette, newly formed and full of trust, untied the string from her ankles and onto the claws of the fox. No longer than a minute had passed when she heard a smooth and distant voice below. "Excuse me, But I couldn't help but notice that you may also be in need of my assistance?" The shimmering curtain of grass shook and parted to reveal a beautiful golden viper. That Sylvie-Bette, she couldn't have known better, untied the strings from her knees and onto the fangs of the viper. The fox, of course, was not very content with this but he resolved to suffice with the bit of control he had. An eager ermine simply strollling by and enjoying the evening, was curious as to what this commotion may be. "Could I perhaps partake as well?" That Sylvie-Bette, seeing no harm, untied the strings from her torso and onto the paws of the ermine. Along then strutted by a peacock, head held high in pityful pride. "Those fools?" he scoffed, "With those drab coats, they cannot be leading you anywhere outside a pathetic road. Let me help you, I'll show you wonders unlike you've ever seen before" That Sylvie-Bette, mesmerized by the shimmering colors like her own, untied the strings from her neck and onto the beak of the peacock. It didn't take very long for the four to fight. The shrill sounds of squeals and shrieks awoke a sleeping bull lying beside the rolling hills. The bull strode on over and said "Should you want to get somewhere in this life, you'll need the help of someone as strong and able like me" That Sylvie-Bette, she went too far too soon, untied the strings from her hands and onto the horns of the bull. That Sylvie-Bette, under the bruised sky and setting sun, realized it was far too late far too late. That Sylvie-Bette, she still had a life she still had a will she still had a mind but not one she could control any longer. She could only watch as the five pulled her apart into their own separate paths. And the strings began to snap one by one. That Sylvie-Bette, had she waited a little longer would still be in one piece. That Sylvie-Bette, underneath the dancing stars, lay alone as the five fled far far away. That Sylvie-Bette, underneath what she should have been, was no more than that formless heap of wood along with some broken strings attached. That formless heap of wood, however, did not know that the woodcarver was still searching. That formless heap of wood, below the glowing midnight moon had all its fragments found and was taken to a woodcarving station to be put together again. That Sylvie-Bette, no longer lost, no longer broken, no longer had strings attached. Nothing was ever too broken that can't ever be fixed Nothing was ever so lost that it'll never be found Nothing will be too fractured that won't be able to put together not even that Sylvie-Bette.
