Puppet

So why do I do what I do?
Do I really have free choice
or am I the product
of social conditioning,
complying with the expected
conventions and restrictions
placed upon me
by my peers and elders?

Do I live my own life
to my own tune
or am I only dancing
to a well-rehearsed
step-sequence
laid down in my genes?
Have I the right
to question the path
of destiny laid down
before I was even born?

Why do I feel
there must somewhere be
a great puppet master
controlling my every action,
for surely my reactions
to people, places, events
are not of my choosing?
Rather, a series of options
in large, non-dimensional boxes
opened at the appropriate moment
to convey fear, joy delight,
or whatever.
I do not feel in control;
rather, controlled.

And what of my fellow
human racers:
what do they see
when they look at me?
Do they ask of themselves
the same burning question
that haunts my every day:
Who am I?

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