Daddy asked me if I was a bad girl
I told him his question was useless cause if I was I wouldn’t tell him. I’d lie. The most sincere I could get was pointing hypocrisy.

We were both presenting ourselves as naive and kind. It kind of frightened me. I wonder if his heavenly politeness and charisma are merely tools to manipulate me. I wonder if I, myself, am an imposter. I feel so inhuman in my private obsessions. I dream of giving in and never regretting giving in.

Even though my movements are still contrary. In a quirked up way of being (offhand speech, skeptical, investigative mind), at least I have my shit together and structure.