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.