Some people weave their lies with smooth words, hoping to shape you into something you’re not. They prey on your vulnerability, believing you’re an easy target. But what happens when the truth rises, and the lies fade away?
Good boy.
The words slip off your tongue
Like oil on water,
Masking the truth
That clings to your fingers—
Dirty, grasping, cold.
You called yourself my friend,
Whispered your way into my cracks,
Where monsters used to live,
And built a new kind of hell.
A woman, you thought,
Too fragile, too broken,
A low flame; easy to snuff.
But you forget:
A smouldering ember burns hotter than fire.
You sought to carve me into shame,
Your hands measuring my worth
Against the curve of your lust.
But this skin—my skin—
Is not yours to claim.
Do you see me now?
I’ve stepped out of the shadows you cast,
Standing taller than the lies you tell yourself.
Your "Momma’s good boy" act
Won’t save you from the truth:
You are no man.
And I—
I am no one’s prey,
No one’s guilt to carry.
My worth is a fortress
You will never breach.
So crawl back
To your hollowed-out pride,
And don’t look for me
In the cracks.
I’ve sealed them all.
No longer a victim to their games, you rise from the darkness they tried to keep you in. The cracks they thought they'd exploit are now sealed, and the fortress of your worth stands strong—untouchable, unbreakable.
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