Pink Little Liar

Pink lace, cherry lips, and a heart too easy to win. But every petal hides a thorn: She never said she was a flower you could pick.

They’ll see the sheer lace,

threaded with things unsaid,

the blossom in my hair,

a feather caught between my fingers,

the silk curve of a smile that never begs.

Let them believe.

Let them think I’m all in—

eyes closed, heart open.

I give without games,

believing that truth is enough.

But some men don’t come to love.

They come to conquer.

They lit the fire behind the bloom.

The woman who’s been kissed,

then burned—

and rose like a phoenix,

untouched by ash.

I’ve grown into my fire.

I still believe in love,

but not in illusions.

I’ve stopped offering it to boys

who confuse softness with surrender.

Now, I don’t fall.

I choose.

If you come with games,

you’ll find I’ve mastered them—

I’ve already seen your moves.

I don’t bluff. I don’t cheat.

Simply, I don’t show you what’s mine.

So I am:

pink lace, cherry lips,

and the kind of eyes

that know a player

before he shuffles the deck.

Wanna play?—but darling,

I already know how this ends.