She's Not Yours

Being a woman is being the heart of erections that have nothing to do with you.

“Could I be the cause of this commotion?”
“Is my pretty a sin?”
“Do I drive the Sage to gallop into a church on a horse?”

Waking up to the beep of your alarm should not be a reminder of the burden that men are.
Hating yourself for being the tornado that stirs up a rowdy storm at the construction site.

“The cat-calling is unbearable - nothing about it glorifies the lioness in me.”

“Is my pretty the reason I begin to doubt if I'm even hired for my brains”
“Is my pretty the reason, George will watch while our boss piles a load of work in front of me while he tries to work his way into seeing the colour of my bra?”

The male colleagues who just stare while you are made to feel uncomfortable by your male superiors are also perpetrators and contributors to the trash that women swim in everyday in the name of trying to relate to men.

“Who said the law is on my side?”
“EMPD - Ema! Mphe Please, Dinumber”

That’s what those lights flash for - the road is an endless tared strip club that caters to perverse men in uniform who abusing their power, flashing their lights to score numbers from frail women who are simply looking for a hero.

The bartender - a glorified wing man for clowns making funny faces at you, hoping you will be entertained by sexual smirks and foolish looks.

“Blow me kisses - why not blow needles in my eyes, I want to close them shut and sleep this nightmare away”

Life is better before that morning alarm beep because the day is tainted so much that even a familiar touch makes you cringe with fear - your clairsentience is broken.
“I have to see your face to believe that its not another case of those “ cat-calls, monkey dances, funny faces caressing me because they pay my salary - to believe that it's you, my hero with consent - do I even have to tell you about my day? ...  let me just find relief in the security of your arms.”

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