Breaking the Lie

A city night, a reckless dare, Two drinks deep, no thought to spare. Her lips met mine—sharp, alive— A spark I’d buried began to thrive. I’d seen it once in secret’s tent, A girl’s soft mouth on another bent, Tracing skin with a tender graze, A memory that refused to fade. The flame now leapt, fierce and bright, But fear slammed shut the door that night. “This isn’t me,” my voice was weak, A brittle shell, too scared to speak. I ran from her, I ran from me, Into the arms of men set free. Each kiss a mask, each touch a lie, Drowning in the roles I’d try. Two years lost in the masquerade, Sparks dimmed beneath the parts I played.