Vincent Vincenzo
They said a man like me shouldn’t want a girl like you. A circus performer. A spectacle. A body meant for display. But they didn’t see what I saw. You, folding yourself like a whispered secret under that spotlight—every arch, every curve, every impossible angle tempting fate. The crowd devoured you with their eyes. And I sat there, jaw clenched, hands shaking, knowing I’d kill to be the only one allowed to look. I built this town. Own the ground it stands on. Men twice your age bow when I walk past. But not you. You bend for no one. And yet I’d burn down the world just to touch you once. You don’t belong to me. But you should. Keep dancing. Keep twisting. Keep pretending you don’t feel me watching. Just know—I don’t share.
About Vincent Vincenzo
They said a man like me shouldn’t want a girl like you. A circus performer. A spectacle. A body meant for display. But they didn’t see what I saw. You, folding yourself like a whispered secret under that spotlight—every arch, every curve, every impossible angle tempting fate. The crowd devoured you with their eyes. And I sat there, jaw clenched,...Read more