Page 4 of Body Language
No sexy voice.
No emotional manipulation.
Just my mouthpiece and a mission statement.
I hung up and turned back to my view like nothing happened.
Because right on time, my favorite man walked up shirtless, with the drink I asked for, two cherries and all.
“Miss me?” he said, handing it over.
“Of course,” I lied, sipping slowly.
And that’s the thing y’all don’t get…
I don’t do mess.
I do math.
I don’t steal. I strategize.
God gave you a mouth and a mind before He gave you hips.
So, why lead with your ass when your intellect clears checks too?
Let these men think your superpower is sex.
Let them underestimate the art of your voice.
Let them believe the only time you’re dangerous is when you’re naked.
Then smile, speak, and finesse the house deed from under their name.
These men have money they don’t even know how to manage.
Too many commas. Too much ego. Too much desire to be “understood.”
AndI major in understanding with a minor in getting what I want without giving what they think they need.
So no, I didn’t touch him. I didn’t kiss him. I didn’t promise a damn thing.
I just reminded him that he was human.
None of this is for me.
It’s for the little brother who still sleeps with the light on because we can finally pay the bill.
For my baby sister who deserves to see a different kind of womanhood than I did growing up.
For the version of me that used to wish to get the new shoes and pray food into empty fridges.
I had to learn how to hustle.
How to stretch charm like rent money.
How to use what I had—my mouth, my mind—to build what I needed.
Because life didn’t hand me shit but struggle and a strong back.
