In “CENTERFOLD,” I take you with me to a regular moment—standing in line at a gas station—when I lock eyes with a young Dominican woman on the front cover of a Playboy magazine. And I’m not coming from lust. I’m coming from grief and compassion, asking the hard question: what’s really happening in a soul when being uncovered becomes the way to cover pain? I start peeling back layers—father wounds, abuse, shame, being told you’ll never be nothing, poverty, and the trap of thinking your body is your only escape route. This spoken word is also a warning to the men listening. I talk about how porn warps perception—how it turns people into targets, how it spreads like a weapon of mass destruction through hearts and minds, and how what started as a “sneak peek” can become full-blown addiction. The takeaway is simple but heavy: the industry sells the lie that you’re the center of the universe, but it won’t love you back. So I leave you with the question that haunts the poem—when the spotlight moves on, will her center fold… or will her center hold?