My face no longer settles into smile
I want but cannot turn it upside down
It feels too much like simple-minded guile
Genetically it is the Cooney frown.
It’s not that I am angry or judgmental
Accusing you of things you didn’t do
Authentic’s not the same as sentimental
I’ll smile when you say something that is true.
I can’t police my face to make you happy
My mind is busy thinking my own thoughts
It’s not my job to fix you when you’re crappy
Your narcissism’s showing and self-doubt.
Not sweet like sugar but like cinnamon
Won’t candy-coat your bitterness again.