She is my clay Free for me to mold to whatever I wish. I deserve to. I made her. I am her creator. And I am the person she’s afraid to become.

Her tears are my opportunity. Her yawns are open doors of manipulation. Let me mold you daughter. Let me make you into who I wanted to be. Let me make you perfect.

You say I don’t know you. But I’m the one who you are the most like. Do you assume I don’t know myself? Come here child. Come into the arms of cynical embrace.

Let me feast on your insecurities. Crunching the doubts and fears Between my teeth.

Tasteful. Satisfying. Delightful.