Middle Piece First

For the ones who flinch when they’re seen too soon—and want it anyway.

I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth—
not the kind that stays clean.
Mine was used, bent, blackened at the edges.
Made for fire. For melting things down to their essence.

The kind of silver that hums near heat.

I can talk to anyone.
Slip into a conversation mid-thought like I belong there.
Say things that would sound unhinged in other mouths—
but when I say them,
they land like truth that’s been waiting for permission.

I start in the middle.
Where it pulses.
Where it hurts a little to touch.
That’s the place I get to know you.
Everything else comes later—your name, your edges, the way you take your coffee.
First, I want to feel what makes you flinch.
What makes you soften.
What makes you real.

I don’t care for puzzles.
Was good at them once.
I used to ignore the border pieces.
I’d start at the center—the part with meaning,
the piece that tells the rest of the picture how to behave.
I’d work outward.
Always.

That’s how I move through people, too.
Not curious. Not cautious.
Just… attuned.
To patterns. To shifts in the air.
To the way your breath changes when you think about something you haven’t said yet.

There’s something in the way I look at people.
Like I already know.
And sometimes I do.

I’m listening to Dylan’s “Positively 4th Street” while I write this.
There’s venom in his voice.
Tenderness, too.
The kind that cuts because it once meant something.
That’s the tone I carry when I’m quiet.
That’s what you hear in me, even when I’m just saying hello.

It’s not performance.
It’s not a strategy.
It’s the way I was made.
Voice like a match.
Presence like smoke.
Flame optional.

I don't need to flirt.
I just enter a room and something shifts.
It’s in the silences.
The way I hold eye contact like I’m searching for the bruise beneath your smile.

Some people feel exposed around me.
Others feel understood.
Most feel both.
And they come back, even when they shouldn’t.

That’s not my problem.
That’s just how the silver glows.

And if I ever say your name,
you’ll hear it like a secret you forgot was yours.

// Scorpio Veil
For the ones who never needed foreplay to feel undone.
For those who crave the middle first.
And for the flames that don’t ask permission before they burn.

If your breath just changed—
You’re not alone.
The rest of this? It’s already waiting.