You smile like a
car crash in slow motion,
and I am powerless to
stop you.

You pull my strings
(girls aren't dolls,
my dearest), and
everything I do is wrong.

Smile in place,
clothes on straight,
lunch in toilet.
The cycle begins.

Makeup doesn't fix
every flaw; concealer
can't hide protruding ribs.

Legs like jello, still tilting
the car to the side.
But you hold onto my
hipbones like handlebars,
and I stay strong for today.