Phil the Puppet

[Silent_J]

I am a quiet person.
You see, I’m very shy.
I hardly say a word
To people I pass by.

I cannot stand rude people.
I cannot stand the mean.
Because of this, they think,
“She’s stuck up.” Of friends, I am clean.

But I have a little puppet.
His name? I call him Phil.
And people laugh and love him
As he does what I never will.

He does the things and says the things
I’d never do or say.
He swears that he won’t eat the cake
But eats it anyway.

He’s crude and loud and vulgar,
He hasn’t got good looks.
Yet everyone adores him,
The rich men and the crooks.

I speak my own mind through him,
And everyone agrees.
Everywhere he and I go,
There’s another crowd to please.

And yet, I, the puppeteer,
Am considered the one without life.
The puppet, Phil; my marionette,
My toy has no such strife.

Could it be that he really has come alive?
Could it be he’s controlling me?
I, the friendless, lonely one
Am the one who isn’t free.

One more thing that I must say
That puzzles me beyond all end:
How is it that Phil, the lifeless plaything
Is my only friend?