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Let them call it a body count when really? It’s just receipts of your freedom.
Because you were made to be wild, to be wanted, to be worshipped on your own damn terms.
She is not yours to measure, judge, or shame. She moves how she wants, gives when she chooses, and owes no one an explanation.
A woman’s body is not a battleground for respectability. It is a home. A temple. A playground. A kingdom. And she decides what to do with it—how, when, and with who.
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.
And I don’t love dumb niggas, so that was the end of that.
stripped off every expectation they ever tried to stuff down my throat about what a “good woman” should be.
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.
Periodt
From here on out, he is Whitney Houston. Why? Because babyyyyy—he has Nothing. Nothing. NOTHINNNGGG and not even ME.
Lol
“How I Look” by GloRilla
“You talk too much and ask too many questions. And if that’s genetic? I’m good.”
You’re not the one who needs to prove her worth—he’s the one who needs to realize it before he loses access.
was still mentally dragging him when I caught a glimpse of Teelamiyah heading in my direction, eyes locked like a missile with a question locked and loaded.
Lol
But him? He threw shade with precision. Said it with his chest.
Rivah. The name suited her—flowing, fluid, soft at first glance but powerful if you dared step in too deep.
That bounce. That volume. She was sunlight and storm wrapped in one body.
“Your body is not a battlefield” and “Pleasure is a protest.”
We are the prize. Not the package deal.
“You got a gun in your hand,” he said casually. “I got one on my back.”
He took off my robe like he was unwrapping a curse he couldn’t wait to be haunted by.
“When I come back, just open the door.”
“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.”
“I like when you talk shit. It gets me hard.” I saw her blink, and then that smart mouth curled into a smirk.
came here to see if that smart mouth still tastes like sin and contradiction.”
You gotta love someone with your whole soul to stay after the storm—and even more to rebuild the whole house after.”
Because I make you feel seen… and safe. And that’s the scariest shit of all.”
You are not asking for too much. He’s just offering too little.
his gold chain glinting under the restaurant’s lighting.
Nah. That shit mine. It needs me. You need me.”
She rolled her eyes, but she got in the bed anyway. That mouth of hers wouldn’t stop, but her body already told the truth.
“When I look at you, Rivah, I see that same fire. But I don’t want to control it. I want to witness it. Feed it. Match it.”
“I won’t be perfect, Rivah. But I’ll be present.”
he stood up and started slipping on his black tee and gold chain, looking too good to be legal.
Who put her trauma on display and wrapped it in humor so the world wouldn’t see her bleeding.
just wanted you to feel safe enough to tap into your soft side. I know you’ve never had anyone to carry your load for you. No one to say rest.
But women? We shatter. And I got tired of being the one left in pieces. So, I became the one who walked away.”
I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be loved just because I’m scared it’ll wreck me.
“You don’t get to lay down and die every time life doesn’t love you back.” And my daddy: “You’re built like a storm, baby girl. Ain’t no man gone unmake you.”
You keep choosing survival. I keep choosing you.”
