Liquor poured. Candles glow. He wouldn’t light candles for a hoe…
Right?
Because hoes don’t get to stay the night…don’t get to witness the sun in all of its bold luminescence…
Don’t get to wear pretty dresses and hold hands on street corners.
Hoes only reside on street corners…in toddler-sized tees with tear-stained cheeks.
Short skirts…sidewalk marketing. Customers glimpse (tattered, pitter-pattered, injected-so-get-a-little-fatter)…cheeks. Ass addressed to the highest paying admirer...
I’m no hoe. No. Can’t be…because if I were, he wouldn’t want to be seen with me. Wouldn’t take me out to eat…wouldn’t put $50 pumps on my grateful feet…wouldn’t survive off coconut nectar and honey from bee stings. Hoes don’t get the finer things…
I’m a lady. A different breed…
My only desire is to give him what he needs. Responding to purple pants and passionate red pleads…is my obligation because he didn’t have to extend this invitation.
Didn’t have to choose me….it may be 1am…he may act like this isn’t love…like he doesn’t give a damn. But-somewhere locked tight, beyond the stench of this redundant night…he’s a man. And I’m a lady.
He wants to find the courage to date me…this is only temporary. Can’t pressure him. Commitment is scary…Patience is a virtue…
So I’ll just do what I have to...Because I’m a lady….and this is what ladies do.
Right?
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