They taught me
the garden of suave—
How to wear charm
like it grew from my skin.
How to collect numbers,
collect glances,
collect moments…
and never get collected.
Keep it player.
Stay untouchable.
Too smooth to stumble.
Too cool to care.
“I hate that I’m so P.”
As if love
were something to outgrow.
But somewhere
between all the winning,
I started envying
the fool.
The one who double-texts.
The one who blushes.
The one who forgets the script
because someone
made their heartbeat improvise.
The one who risks looking ridiculous
just to be remembered honestly.
Because anyone can master the game.
Very few
have the courage
to forfeit it.
To trade moxie
for mercy.
Swagger
for sincerity.
Control
for connection.
Maybe the real flex
isn’t having everybody want you.
Maybe it’s finding one person
who makes you forget
how to perform.
Who makes “player”
feel like a costume
you’ve finally outgrown.
So if loving you
makes me look foolish—
let me be the fool.
Because I’ve worn cool.
And it never kept me warm.
About the Creator
Marcus Hill
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