Not every sweet treat is harmless. Some are sugar on the lips, poison in the soul. They mistake softness for access. They always do. A smile doesn’t mean I’m simple. Playfulness doesn’t mean I’m harmless. Desire doesn’t mean I’m available. I learned early that intelligence hides best behind charm, and that beauty makes people feel entitled to conclusions. My beauty is not here to comfort you. If it unsettles you, that’s because it refuses to behave. Some look at me and imagine rescue. Others imagine possession. Both are projections. I am not fragile — I am unsupported. Not unstable — misread. Not an invitation — a mirror. I don’t exist to be decoded, saved, or consumed. I exist after the fantasy fails.