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She is not yours to measure, judge, or shame. She moves how she wants,
Body count? Nah. Character development. Because a woman who chooses herself is never out of line— She’s just out of reach for the ones who couldn’t handle her.
My bestfriend Vane’s house always smelled like coconut oil and ambition.
tapped the brush against the powder. “I can’t wait until you find a man that makes a believer outta you. And have you doing all the things you swore you’d never do.”
She knew why I walked heavy and loved light.
“You got the degrees, the charm, the family, and the fake ‘man of God’ act. But underneath all that? You're still just a weak, pitiful little bitch with commitment issues and community dick.”
Nah. Because women deserve to be wild and worshiped. To explore their cravings without consequence. To stretch, scream, and savor every ounce of pleasure this life has to offer—whether it’s for one night or none at all.
Because my body isn’t a battleground for someone else’s insecurities. It’s a damn altar—and I choose who gets to kneel.
I love the art of pleasing someone and the science of knowing how to please yourself.
And the day I stopped caring what people thought about how I moved, was the best damn day of my life.
miss your taste and I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout your cooking.
“And you? You had the nerve to ask me to whisper during sex in a house that’s really your mamma’s?” Sir. You are not a man, you are a dependent with stamina.”
“I hate to interrupt your reunion tour, but it looks like she’s already on a better program now.”
“I’ll meet you in the front lobby at 9PM.” “Bet. I’ll be the one smelling like bad decisions.”
Yeah. She was gonna be a problem. But I liked problems. Especially ones with full hips, rolled eyes, and no filter.
“That’s cute. But if dying means tasting you first?” I tilted my head and smiled. “Then go ahead and engrave my name on the damn stone.”
A collision of two people who swore they’d never need each other, but couldn’t stop sinking into something deeper than they were ready for.
“Self care is moaning and a back arch in one.”
He didn’t just touch me. He studied me. Let me think I was in control while he played chess with my whole nervous system.
“Oh, I know you grown. You rode me on your damn tip toes like you had a ballet scholarship riding on it.”
“You think you ran something. I let you have that. Let you build your ego, boost your little pussy power campaign. But, by the time I’m done? You won’t be talking all that ‘run the world’ shit. That pussy gon’ be dead and filing for disability.”
placed both guns on the table next to the candles and incense like we were about to meditate instead of sin.
He moved me like I was his. Kissed me soft. Held me firm. He didn’t fuck me—he humbled me. With every stroke, every whisper against my ear, he told me without saying a word: you ain’t the only one who knows how to run shit.
I got pinned to a cross. I ain’t saying that man died for my sins… but baby, I might’ve confessed a few.
“A woman’s power ain’t just in her body— It’s in knowing when to let it lead, and when to let it rest.”
“And you talk real distant for somebody who moaned my name like a prayer.”
“And when I do eat you… when I eat your soul away… just know, when it’s over—I’m fucking your face.”
“Krossli Givelle.”
“Was I supposed to ask for a government ID before I licked your spine?”
“It’s Rivah Renée Banks.”
You gotta love someone with your whole soul to stay after the storm—and even more to rebuild the whole house after.”
“A restraining order is cute too, but it won’t stop me.”
see what kinda games you playing. Tell that nigga he got 15 minutes to get up and go before I lay you on that dinner table and eat your pussy in front of him. Show him who it really belongs to.
told you, if you didn’t leave, I’d pull up and eat your pussy in front of whoever had the balls to sit across from you. You really brought this pretty little plate to the table, but left the feast behind.”
“I worship that pussy. That little pretty pussy you got that moans when I just look at it. And you out here letting weak ass hands touch it like it ain’t the holy grail? Like it doesn't deserve to be on a pedestal with roses and rainwater? Nah. That shit mine. It needs me. You need me.”
“You are not too much. You are everything.”
“And I know men have failed you. Left scars in places kisses can’t reach. But I am not them. I’m not here for just the climax. I’m here for the crash. The aftermath. The rebuild.”
“You don’t have to shrink. Or smile when you’re aching. You don’t have to dim down your fire for me to stay.” I kissed her cheek—soft, loving. “I want the woman who’s been called too hard, too loud, too sexual, too opinionated, too cold. Because that’s the woman who’s survived.” “You’ll leave.”
“Always wanted me home while he made outside his whole damn residence nightly.”
Now, before y’all start throwing rose petals and “aww” reactions under this post, calm down. I still don’t believe in fairy tales. I still believe in therapy, boundaries, and checking his phone if your intuition starts itching.
