And on this particular morning he had an extra spoon of audacity

So it was only right I be the bitterness in his sweet ideal of a woman

Do I look like the type that can be perched on a pedestal

I cannot be your trophy wife–have you seen these hips

Do they strike you as submissive

There is no shape wear you could buy to conform these hips to fit your ego

These hips have seen war and battled on the front lines

Have you felt the scratches on my walls–left behind by the warriors that climbed through them

Though my walls may be listed as made by man

Giving the false pretense that man could ever control the sway in my hips

Don’t be fooled because these walls are where man was made

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